Inevitable
by Nabob
Summary: [COMPLETE] [Post Naraku] It is five years after Kagome fell down the well, and her relationship with Inuyasha changes drastically. However, after a series of events things take a serious turn for the worst, and nothing is as Kagome expected.
1. Instigation

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Inuyasha and all its characters; they belong rightfully to Rumiko Takahashi.

**Warning: **This is a dark fic and will contain violence and other issues that some people may not find comfortable to read, there will not be any explicit sexual content, but there will be references and innuendos. This story is rated R for a reason.

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Inevitable**

**Chapter 1**

**Instigation**

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_It had ended. _

A little gruesomely for my liking, but we can hardly be choosers of such things, and battles are always bloody anyway. I have proof, still fresh and vibrant in my memory like yesterday.

I had paid no heed to their urgent insisting that I stay and be tended; I was dirty and I wasn't all that hurt anyway…at least compared to them.

I don't know why it happened but I can secretly say that I wasn't completely surprised. It had been bound to happen eventually.

I'd been having trouble to begin with, my body weak with exhaustion and injuries, but I was determined to be clean. I was covered in dirt and blood and it was disgusting.

My hands shook and the soap kept slipping from my fingers. I could barely even stand, but I had to wash it away, all of it, down to the last speck of mud. I could still see the faces, still hear the screams, still feel the blood on my skin…taste it on my tongue…

It happened on one of those times when I dropped the soap. I was trying to pick it up again without collapsing, my knees wobbling as I bent down to retrieve the white bar beneath the water, clutching the riverbank to support me.

I was too focused to notice, paying too little attention to hear him approach on the opposite bank, slip off his things, and enter the water.

It was only when he came up right behind me, sliding a hand around to rest flat on my stomach that I really noticed.

I nearly screamed. My first thought was to run, but the slight prick of claws against the smooth skin of my belly, and his all too familiar aura surrounding me stilled that instinct.

I had a mind to say it, but realization that it would only send us both crashing down to the riverbed with him on top…well I thought better of it.

My heart was in my mouth. It took up too much room for my tongue to work, so I remained silent, rigid.

A part of me wanted him there; in fact, most of me wanted him there. Years had passed and I was no longer the young and innocent fifteen-year-old girl who would have shrieked herself silly and then sat him for all she was worth. No, you didn't live to see what I had seen and then relate yourself to the word 'innocent'.

I wondered for a moment what it was he intended to do; though secretly I hoped for something I'd long waited for. My pulse was racing fast enough, and even immersed in the relatively warm water as I was, I had Goosebumps prickling every inch of my flesh.

But alas, he surprised me and he simply stepped closer, his every contour touching me. I nearly choked on the sensation of his unnaturally close, not to mention _nude_, proximity. But all he did was bend down over me, his arm reaching past to grasp the bar of soap which I had sought, his left hand splayed across my stomach and supporting my wobbly frame.

He straightened, bringing me with him, and wonder of all wonder, he began to bathe me, slowly, gently, _meticulously_ even, showing greater care than he ever had before over the past five years.

He didn't even get aroused, despite our abnormally intimate, _naked_, position, and I wasn't sure whether I should be insulted…or thankful.

I didn't say anything, and neither did he. My silent acquiesce appeared to be enough for him, and I was too fearful to venture words, not to mention tongue-tied.

I simply let him help me. By then my legs were so weak that I didn't think I could have refused him if I wanted to, the loss of blood from my head wound _was_ making me so dizzy that I was now solely dependent on his support.

I was glad for his mutual silence, though the tension was still unspoken and present.

Inside I was just as shocked as at first, my stomach twisting in knots of panic and uncertainty. I hoped dearly that he wasn't planning on using me…she had, after all, died two years ago…

But his touch elicited unbidden yet stimulating thoughts, and I was hard-pressed not to give in to them. I was well aware that he could no doubt smell the initial spike in my scent, but he made no outward show of it whatsoever.

I was glad for that…partially.

I was not so young that the current thoughts that plagued my conscience would induce a heavy blush to stain my cheeks, though my skin still felt flushed and my heart thudded painfully against my chest. I was no longer one to consider such things in the way a young girl would. I was not a child anymore, but a woman, if a young one. I wasn't ignorant of sex, or the things that Miroku and Sango did when they were alone. Although personally I had no real experience in the matter, _but_ I wasn't stupid either.

I admit that I wanted him, as intimately positioned as we were it would have been impossible for me not to feel such inklings of desire, but seeing how impassive he was I found myself too frightened to doing anything about it. Knowing that he could hear my fast pacing heart and smell the distinct scent of my arousal was not comforting. I felt uncomfortably exposed, and surprisingly it was not my state of nakedness that had me feeling so.

But it was increasingly hard to focus on lathering the soap when I could feel the tips of his claws running up and down my arm, as he slowly rubbed off the dirt with his rough and soapy palm.

I could feel the little hairs on my arms standing on end, my skin tingling with gooseflesh. His breath was warm against the back of my neck, sending continual shivers up and down my spine.

I dropped the soap.

I hadn't meant to, but the sudden feel of his hand sliding down my side and along my curves had me gasping so sharply that I wasn't even aware the bar had left my hands until I heard the tiny splash that signaled it.

I froze, and I felt him still behind me, his hand tense against my abdomen.

We remained as still as statues for some time, but eventually, he leant down, his hand still present on my stomach to keep me steady, and he plucked the soap from the stony bed, straightening into his former position and continuing to scrub away the dirt that still stuck to my shoulders and face.

He practically finished washing me by himself; I was feeling too disoriented and clumsy, and I didn't really mind, so I let him.

When he was done he tossed the soap, and I watched the white bar fly through the air to land next to my dirtied clothes on the bank, blinking slowly. I made to disentangle myself and climb upon the bank, but his arm abruptly encircled my middle entirely, tightening its grip.

I gasped at the unexpected stiffness that I suddenly felt pressing against me, and my heart once again rose into my throat, small spots dotting my vision and I could sense a heat beginning to build between my thighs. I gulped nervously, suddenly discovering that I was trembling.

He moved his mouth next to my ear, a throaty growl rumbling in his chest and I could feel it vibrate against me.

It then happened all so fast that sometimes I pause to speculate whether it even happened at all.

One minute we were standing there, pressed against each other, and the next I was spun around and thrust against the grassy bank, staring into his smoldering eyes.

He said nothing, and I had to wonder if that was really for the best or not.

His mouth then closed over mine, his kiss brutal and possessive, not at all like the one and only time we'd kissed before.

That kiss had been chaste and brief, yet this was hungry and full of need…bruising. He nipped at my lips and shoved his tongue into my mouth, exploring at his leisure and almost devouring me.

I did my best to respond, knowing I was at a disadvantage with my inexperience. This was, after all, only my second kiss…which was extremely pathetic, when I thought about it.

He was surprisingly…efficient. I'm not sure there's a better way to describe his…technique.

And it was rough. There were no other words for it.

It hurt too, but I'd known that in the beginning, so I guess I can't complain.

He wasn't what I would have called mindful of my virginity, but at least he waited for the initial shock to fade before continuing, though he certainly didn't hold back afterwards. I think I once caught his eyes flash red.

In reflection the term 'rut' really did come to mind; it seemed to describe the very essence of what we had done. The forceful, almost violent act of our intercourse was nothing that I would have associated with love, or even emotion for that matter. It was more like an instinctual act of physical feeling enforced with raw, uncontained arousal.

I can't say I didn't enjoy it, because the simple truth was I had, despite its harshness, though whether I was truly, secretly satisfied managed to escape me.

It was not so much the feeling or the sensation, but more the entirety of it all that had me confused. For a long time I'd envisioned this moment, but when it actually came it was so starkly different from my expectations that I could not help but find myself feeling slightly cheated.

I had always pictured a more romantic setting of where we would make love, and a river had not been one of them. But then again we hadn't really made love. He had fucked me – we had done _it_, and I was left feeling strange and disappointed and sore.At the time I had wondered, briefly afterwards, if one could even "make" such a thing as "love".

I remember his claws digging into my skin as he'd clutched me, held me so tight as if he'd feared that, should he have let go, I would have just drifted away, dragged from his possessive embrace by the river's current.

I was bleeding by the end, and he'd seemed to have lost his earlier fervor because he went slowly when we had disentangled ourselves, even taking the time to gently clean my bloodied thighs. He'd had to hold me up, my already weak body completely exhausted by our vigorous and crude sex.

I must have passed out though, because I'd woken sore and groggy, my head bandaged and the rest of me all but smothered with blankets.

I'd had the audacity to doubt my hazy memories, and a sharp streak of doubt had assailed me. But when I'd lifted the blanket, and then the edge of the sleeping _kimono_ I'd apparently been dressed in; it had revealed the bruises on my thighs - as if the pain deep in my stomach had not been enough to clarify it for me - and scratches on my breasts, the result of his eager hands attempting to fondle. But then, _then_ I had known that it was real. But I had not felt happy.

I still don't.


	2. Repercussions

**Disclaimer: **Inuyasha and co. does not belong to me but to Rumiko Takahashi.

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**Inevitable**

**Chapter 2**

**Repercussions**

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_I suppose after three months I should have known that 'gentle' was a word you simply did not associate with him. _

It wasn't like it hurt…most of the time. He didn't intend it, that I could tell, but I still felt a little frightened sometimes, and even while he always recovered afterwards and he always took great care while washing away the results of his aggressiveness, I still found myself crying on those nights when I was alone.

It was only when his eyes flashed red, and his _youkai_ blood boiled enough to make him lose all constraint that he hurt me. Most of the time he didn't even know it had happened, and I never told him.

I realized that he always had to hold back when we had sex, his _youkai_ blood unable to contain itself during such…"natural" behavior – especially without his sword. Once even his facial markings had appeared, but I didn't like to recall that time.

He'd also become even more possessive than before, more dominating, and I was becoming not so much annoyed as scared.

He hated that I spent so much more time in my actual world now. No matter how many times I tried to explain it to him he just didn't understand that to me, university was important.

He always had to put up an argument when I left after one of my brief visits, which unfortunately were becoming fewer and fewer. And strangely enough I was finding the need to defend myself every time. I almost felt guilty if I didn't explain to him why it was that I couldn't stay.

I was becoming afraid of him, meek and diminutive in his presence, and I hated it.

I, who had once been so bold and argumentative with him, was now submissive and timid, always fearing his disapproval or anger, righteous or not.

I hadn't been able to stand it. I felt like one of those women who had become trapped in an abusive relationship, and I was ashamed to know now that while I had once regarded those women with pity and incredulity, I was now exactly like them.

Even with the advantage of the prayer beads I still ducked my head and spoke in softer tones around him. I was not using the subduing spell as often as I once had, though I still did not hesitate to call out the word whenever he crossed the line too far.

Although I suppose I can't really say he was abusive, but I had not felt at ease or comfortable in his presence as I once had.

He was…changed. I could not pinpoint it exactly, but the difference was there. He was no longer the young, immature boy that I had met five years ago, sealed upon the Goshinboku Tree. He was a man now, and while he may not have been a completely matured adult, he was no longer a boy.

He had been…firmer, surer of himself, and he had not embarrassed quite so easily about certain…things.

Though when I found myself alone with nothing but my thoughts I was afraid, and even if I was sore between my thighs that was not the reason why I cried.

I continued to struggle to accept just what it was that this drastic change in our relationship meant, because the truth was, while I would like to hope one thing, I had absolutely no idea.

It was not at all fairy-tale love, and he was anything but prince charming, but I had to wonder how deeply he truly felt for me.

Ever since the night the entire mess began, after I had thought all messes to be over and done with, he had not once mentioned anything concerning our relationship, his feelings or emotions towards me, and he had certainly said nothing of Kikyou. Though during the last three years since her death he had barely spoken of her at all…

I feared that I was nothing but a replacement of the dead _miko_; I feared he deemed me nothing more than a friend whom he liked to fuck. Crude words but I had thought them with honesty, and though I had tried to shut them out, as I lay alone in the dark I could not.

But I felt selfish with those thoughts; my problems could hardly amount to what the others went through.

As to be expected the final battle did not leave us unscathed, and while I was had been lucky, I could not say the same for the others.

Sango-chan had been delirious with fever for days, her head wound taking away at least two years of her memory, and even then she was like a yo-yo with her unpredictable bouts of depression.

Miroku-sama still required crutches, and while his Kazaana had disappeared and his line is no longer cursed, his left hand now misses its pinkie, ring and middle finger, cut off when Kohaku attempted to slay him with his scythe.

Ah yes, Kohaku…

The boy was revived, though whether that was really a good thing I could not say. He was plagued by nightmares and guilt, and I could feel him slipping further every time I saw him, his eyes far and withdrawn, the aura of depression he emitted impossible for me to miss.

And Shippou…I could not think of him without feeling the sting of tears. He was like a baby brother to me, perhaps even like a son, and I still love the little kitsune with all my heart, but I knew then that it would break when he was gone.

He was dying.

Despite our attempts to keep him with Kaede he would not listen, and he followed us, and in the end it was he who saved me.

I'd shot an arrow and nicked Naraku's shoulder, hardly doing any damage but it did manage to get his attention. Unfortunately.

The _hanyou_ had shot out a tentacle, straight for me, and my friends were too far away to help.

For a brief, agonizing moment I had thought that I was going to die.

But then Shippou had jumped in the way…

….And the tentacle had passed straight through him, piercing him through the middle. I swear that I will never stop seeing that image or hearing his screams.

He had prevented my death, but in doing so he'd guaranteed his own. And even though he was older and stronger and full _youkai_, he was not strong enough. Naraku's miasma poisoned him, infecting the wound, and he was too young and weak to overcome the toxin that had entered his system and was now slowly eating him away day by day.

He could no longer walk, and was confined to his futon, and while I did my best to visit regularly, often bringing my homework along with me, I was able to get away less and less.

I'd gotten a job at the local WacDonald's in order to pay for my tuition, but with the job and school combined, free time was becoming less and less frequent.

I remember that night, the details somehow still strong in my mind.

I'd eventually no longer been able stand it, and kicking off my covers I'd tumbled from my bed, stumbling to my feet and standing in the middle of my room, rubbing my shoulders even though the spring weather was relatively warm.

The soft breeze that blew in from my window drew me over to it, and leaning on the windowsill I looked out into the night.

It was open; at the time I'd taken to leaving it that way since he'd often surprise me by slipping in during the night, crawling in beside me to be there when I awoke.

I liked waking up to find his arms wrapped securely around me, and while the first few times he'd scared the absolute wits out of me I was by now used to it.

It was then, when he was sleeping peaceful next to me, that I could actually enjoy his presence. I wasn't afraid of him then, in fact I felt completely safe and at ease during those moments, but minutes after he woke he was once again the distant and yet domineering hanyou that I had come to question.

I had scolded myself for indulging in such brief interludes, always knowing that once he awoke he would most likely demand I return with him, or begin to argue with me about the stupidest thing that I usually don't even remember.

I hadn't told my mother about us then, not even Jii-chan or Souta, though my brother had figured it out on his own, and it had cost me a fortune with all the video games I had been blackmailed into buying.

I'd looked to my desk, then walking over I'd stooped to pick up the simple glass case, opening it to withdraw the glowing stone, letting it rest upon my palm.

The _Shikon no Tama_, the Jewel of Four Souls, whole and pure, as Midoriko had always intended it to be.

So long had we fought to complete it, so much had we suffered to reunite the scattered pieces, and after years of questing it finally lay, purified and complete, in my hand.

He had yet to make a wish, then and now, though whenever he had come to my house his eyes would stray often to gaze at it longingly, but he never said a word. I had never asked him, never mentioned it to him. Even if he was changed I had wanted to keep him as long as I possibly could, and I knew that once he made that wish he just wouldn't be the same anymore. He'd be gone.

Wiping the tears from my eyes I had replaced it. Turning away I'd sighed heavily, but started at the sudden thump on my roof. I had turned to face my window hastily and watched, trying to slow my breathing as he slipped in through the window, landing softly to stand in front of me.

"You're awake," he'd simply stated.

I slowly nodded, and wordlessly crawled back into bed, watching him and counting the predictable one, two, three until he walked over and got in beside me.

Typically I gasped when his hand slid up my loose sleeping shirt, the tips of his claws running over my skin, sending constant tremors up and down my spine.

I'd trembled slightly, and curled my knees into my chest, grabbing his hand and pulling it out from under my shirt, thrusting it back at him. He lay still for a moment, but then he rolled over, his back not even touching mine, and I lay there in the darkness, feeling alone even though he was not even a foot away.

And I had closed my eyes and hugged myself, because no one else would.


	3. Trepidation

**Disclaimer: **Inuyasha and co. all belongs rightfully to Rumiko Takahashi.

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**Inevitable**

**Chapter 3**

**Trepidation**

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_I hadn't remembered my dream but I'd woken up crying._

I wasn't sure if I woke him or not, but I was leaning towards the idea that he'd been awake for quite some time.

He stirred next to me and I immediately sniffled, wiping hastily at my eyes. If there was anything I hated it was appearing weak in front of him. I felt bad enough as it were. I felt like some replacement toy, used for his own purposes, and I wasn't even sure why.

Every time he yelled at me I had to feel guilty, I had to feel it was my fault; I had to feel it was always _me_, not him, never him. I felt that whenever he looked at me, wanting me, taking me, it was never really me. He had lost himself after her death, and every time he claimed me I could see in his eyes that he was somewhere far away, far from _me_.

I was not sure when I noticed, but after that first time I simply hadn't felt…the same. How could I? I'd thought I had what I wanted; I'd dreamt so long of him finally wanting me, _me_, and not she who had died but still lived inside of him, where _I _wanted to be...

But then I began to see the distance in his eyes, the unfocused far away look, and then they would turn red, oh so red and he wouldn't _be _there anymore.

I was losing myself.

I was losing myself and I was afraid, afraid that it was never me and always her, always, and afraid that I would simply crumble and the one they had called Kagome would be nothing but an empty shell.

I was too frightened, afraid that if I tried to tell him that he would become angry, or worse, I would be _right_. I suppose the reason for being so meek was that I wished only to please him. I had thought that perhaps if I did just what he wanted and acted the way he wanted then he would want _me_.

I did not hate her, I never had, but I had begun to feel a cold envy, deep inside of me, green with jealousy that she still held sway over what I never could. Sometimes I cursed her; sometimes I asked for her advice, gods even her _permission _in my prayers. I already knew that despite our shared soul I would never be her, but always _me_, yet for him I felt, that just wasn't good enough.

His face came into my vision as he leaned over me, placing his left arm above my right shoulder, a curtain of white hair blocking out everything but those intense eyes. Staring at me even as I tried to brush away the forming tears, blinking rapidly and biting my bottom lip.

He frowned. "You're crying,"

I shook my head, trying to deny it. "No…no I'm not."

I winced at the growl he made, causing me to tense, closing my eyes.

The sound stopped and I opened my eyes, looking up at him.

His expression seemed confused and in reaction my own brows twitched in puzzlement.

"Why."

I stared at him blankly. Why indeed? But I turned my head aside and said nothing, staring at nothing.

The mattress creaked slightly as he roughly pushed away, slumping down beside me. I curled up and clutched the sheets in my hands to bring them up to my chest.

I looked at the alarm clock and felt my eyes widen. It was six thirty and my mother would be up in less than half an hour!

"Inuyasha, quick! You have to go now!" I urged him, turning over to shake his shoulder, my earlier shyness forgotten.

He looked at me and frowned. "Why?" he questioned suspiciously.

I pointed to the clock. "My mother will be up any minute! Quickly, you've got to go before she gets up!"

Dark brows drew down, and his face of suspicion carried a hint of anger.

"You don't want her to find me here?"

I paused, gazing at him. "You know she would freak out, why are you asking now? You would usually be gone by now anyways," I tried to explain.

He straightened into an upright sitting position, crossing his arms.

"So you're ashamed of me."

The exhale of breath caught in my throat and for what felt like an eternity I couldn't move. He thought…I was _ashamed _of him?

"W – what?" I finally managed to stutter.

"You're ashamed of me," he repeated, "you're ashamed of being with me, a **_hanyou_**," he spat the term and I flinched. "You don't want your mother to find out you're bedding with me."

I gaped at his accusations, stricken. My mouth opened and closed but I couldn't seem to form a reply.

He growled. "I fucking knew it."

The haughtiness in his tone seemed to hit a nerve because the next second I found my voice. "I'm not!" I protested furiously, "I don't know what you're talking about!"

The breath left me when I was shoved unceremoniously onto my back, the springs in my mattress bouncing a little from the force.

Clawed hands gripped my wrists and forced them down on either side of my head, golden eyes burning into mine as he straddled me to keep me from kicking.

"Don't lie to me," he seethed.

"I'm not," I whispered, trying to sink myself even deeper into my pillow as if to hide myself from that livid gaze.

"Yes you are. You hide and keep it all locked up like some fucking shameful secret. Am I that fucking sickening to you?" he said, his voice rising in volume.

I shook my head from side to side, the back of my eyes already stinging with tears.

"No…shh, Inuyasha, you're waking everyone up," I told him; trembling and attempting to blink back the threatening tears.

"You see! You fucking see? You're ashamed that you're with a hanyou bastard, you're ashamed of being with _me!_"

"_No!_" I shouted back, boldly locking my eyes with his. "I'm not, I'm _not _ashamed of you, it's not _you_."

He scowled. "What?"

I shut my eyes and looked away. "It's not you, it's never _you_…"

The easing of his grip on my wrists made me slowly open my eyes, staring up at him with apprehension.

"What?" he repeated, this time his voice seemed to waver though, almost raspy.

I bit my lip. "I'm never ashamed of you."

He was sitting up straight now, still straddling me but he studied me with a strange expression I couldn't place.

"Then…who?" he eventually asked.

I was then unsure if I wanted to tell him, afraid to tell him, but I had figured I would have to tell him eventually, whether I wanted to or not.

"Me…"

His reaction was slow, beginning with the raising of his eyebrows, followed by the widening of his eyes, his muscles tensing as he leaned away, his mouth falling partway open.

"You?" his voice was incredulous.

I bit my lip and nodded. "It's always me."

He seemed confused, and he had a right to be, even I was still confused.

Clearing his throat he faced away, slowly easing off of me to stand by the bed, arms folded across his chest as he fixed his gaze somewhere out my window.

I waited, pushing myself up to sit, staring at my hands in my lap.

"Why?"

I had expected the question, yet even being aware of it; I still didn't know how I was supposed to answer.

I shrugged, even though I knew he wasn't looking at me. "I…I'm never…" gods but how was I supposed to say it? "…I'm never good enough. I can't be everything you need…I can't be _her_."

There was a prolonged silence that I did not attempt to break, a little stunned at my own, however small, confession.

"Kagome."

I forced myself to look up at him. All the feelings of trepidation swirling at the pit of my stomach in a vortex of built up emotion was creating a rather uncomfortable sensation.

He paused, about to say something, and I felt the queasiness increase and my throat tighten.

"You don't understand do you?" he finally said, catching me completely off guard.

My mouth opened but I said nothing for a time, needing to swallow to regain the moisture in my throat.

"No…" I whispered, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

He looked down, shifting uncomfortably. "You're, you're not…" he groaned in frustration. "Fuck!" he cursed, throwing up his hands to look at me.

"Inuyasha…"

He glared, swinging his gaze to the floor. "Fuck Kagome, this isn't…this isn't about _her_."

I trembled, shaking my head. "It is. It always is. Always."

"Kagome!" he yelled, his face suddenly inches from mine and I leaned back.

He raised a claw to my loose sleep shirt, and I frowned in puzzlement. "Inuyasha wh – no! Inuyasha…!"

He sliced the material from the collar down, tossing the useless top aside, baring my chest so that I wrapped my arms around myself, turning red even when he'd seen me many times before.

He didn't comment, simply pushed my arms down to my sides, despite my murmured protests, and then released one of my wrists to point at all the little bruises, all the little cuts, the slashes on my breast – everything that he had done to me.

"Do you see that?" he demanded, and dumbly, I nodded. "That's proof, Kagome."

I wrenched the wrist that he still held from his grip, bringing both arms back up to hide myself again.

"But what does that mean?" I whispered tearfully, and I was glad that my bangs hid the salty tears from his view.

He groaned, pushing away and standing.

And then a knock sounded at the door, and we both froze.

I lifted my head to stare at him, both our widened gazes meeting and locking.

He seemed to hesitate, unsure.

"Kagome? Kagome what's going on?" my mother's voice was muffled by the barrier of the door, and I stared at him pleadingly.

He seemed unwilling, but with a meaningful glare he turned away to leap out the opened window, vanishing.

He was just in time. A moment later my door opened to my mother standing in her pajamas and bathrobe, a cup of coffee in one hand and with an extreme case of bed head.

"Kagome, what – " she began with a yawn but froze upon seeing me, sitting on my bed, topless with my former T-shirt lying ripped in half on the floor, and the cool breeze blowing in through my open window…

"Oh gods…" she said, raising a hand to cover her mouth. "Kagome what – what happened?"

I looked down and heard her approach then sit next to me on the edge of my bed.

"Kagome…Inuyasha was here…wasn't he?" she questioned carefully.

I didn't deny it, nodding my head and simply stated, "yes."

She made a slow intake of breath, and I could see her arm as she reached over to set her coffee on my bedside table. As she sat back her eyes must have fell upon the slightly visible scars that my arms could not completely hide.

She gasped. "Kagome…oh dear gods…"

I slowly tilted my head to face her.

Her tone was very serious, and her expression was extremely grave. "Kagome…what happened? What is going on?"

I took a moment to think, gazing out the open window before looking her in the eye.

"I don't know."

And even now, I still do not think that I do.


	4. Explanations

**Disclaimer: **Apply it how you see fit, it's all the same no matter how you word it.

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**Inevitable**

**Chapter 4**

**Explanations**

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_I remember that morning..._

"Are you using birth control?"

I scoffed. "Yes, Mama."

"Kagome…"

"I am!"

She groaned and ran her hands through her hair. Slumping her head briefly on the kitchen table she drew her fingers down her face and sat up, resting an elbow on the table and massaging her temple. Her free hand tapping the rim of the untouched cup of coffee, her eyes somewhere far and distant, and I knew the cup was not what she saw.

"Mama…" I whispered, ashamed to feel tears brim along my lids.

Letting out a nervous giggle her eyes withdrew from that far-off place and she shook her head. Grasping the mug she brought it to her lips, closing her eyes as she took a sip, but her hands were unsteady and trembled, spilling hot liquid onto herself.

"Ah…!" she gasped, setting the cup down quickly, more coffee slopping over the brim and onto the table. Sticking her hand into her mouth she sucked at the scalded skin, her chest shaking slightly with soft and strange laughter.

"Mama…are…are you okay?" I asked hesitantly.

"Yes, yes…I'm fine Kagome," she answered when she removed her hand, shaking it and rubbing at her eyes. "I'm fine…"

I bit my lip, staring down at my own mug of coffee, the heat still swirling around the rim.

"What are you using?"

I sighed, looking back up to face her. Blunt and back on topic. Yay.

"The pill."

"The pill?" she frowned. "But Kagome…how long have you been using it? Please tell me you'd already taken it before…" she reached out desperately to grasp my hand, her eyes pleading with my own and gods did I wish I could lie to her if only to make those unshed tears go away.

"…No…" I murmured, and I could see the hope shatter in her eyes even as her head drooped. She withdrew her hand from mine.

"But you're not…" she didn't finish the question, nor did she need to.

"No, I'm not pregnant…I would have told you already if I was."

She let out a deep sigh; whether of relief, exhaustion, strain or everything in general I couldn't tell.

Sitting back in her chair she took another sip of coffee, her eyes gazing out of the kitchen, once again visiting that far-off place.

"How long has this been going on?" she questioned, not removing her eyes from the point beyond the kitchen entrance at which she stared, in that somewhere so far from me…

"About three months…after it was completed."

"Ah…" she nodded, taking another swallow from her steaming mug and I wondered if she could even feel the scalding of it travel down her throat. "That would make sense."

There was a stretch of silence, my mother continuing to visit that world hidden in her eyes. I could see her scanning whatever it was she saw slowly, as if she were reading or seeing the pages of a book…

I studied the hands resting in my lap, the coffee on the table sat untouched. As the moments passed like years I was surprised it was still fresh and steaming…

She cleared her throat eventually and I looked up. She was staring blankly at her coffee cup, finger tapping absently on the ceramic.

"What…" she faltered, eyebrows drawing down as she struggled, still not raising her eyes to face me. "What really happened…Kagome?" and when she said my name she looked up, searching my face for honesty.

I opened my mouth but paused. What was I supposed to say? I, myself, wasn't even sure…and it was so…so…so damned _confusing_ sometimes. I had to question whether this wasn't just some horrid, horrid nightmare that I was being pulled through. We were all so…broken.

"We…" I swallowed, "we killed him…we completed it but…" I looked skyward, blinking whilst the tears broke loose and trailed down my face, warm and saline on my skin.

The warm presence of her hand clasping mine was unexpected but welcome, and I squeezed back hard as if letting go meant falling away completely.

"Shippou's dying…" I gasped, my mouth falling open as I tried to breathe. I could taste the salt of tears on my tongue.

Her hand tightened on my own and I knew that both our knuckles must be white from the force of it.

"Shh…" she soothed, but I could hear the shakiness of her voice. Turning back to her I was not surprised to see that she herself was crying.

"S – Sango-chan is…getting better, and Kaeda-obasan says she is recovered for the most part but…she still has nightmares and even with Miroku-sama to comfort her…" I clamped my lips shut, but they still trembled and I could feel the tears sliding over them. "But even he is…" but my voice rose in pitch, and the first sob shook me.

Suddenly I found myself sobbing at my kitchen table, pulling my lips back from my open mouth to let the weeping escape, bowing my head to hide my face with the dark curtain of my hair.

I think the last time I had my mother hold me as I cried and clung to her, was that time, so long ago beneath the Goshinboku as we sat and she let me hug her and cry my tears upon her shirt. That time after I'd discovered him there with her…the day I had finally realized that I was in love with him…

She hadn't questioned me or made me explain; she simply held me and gave me comfort as mothers always did, shedding light of advice and wisdom on me when the tears had run dry.

Even this time she didn't make me go on. In all probability she most likely didn't want me to go on, and I silently thanked her for that.

Eventually I had pushed away, wiping at my eyes and giving her a reassuring smile, though I knew that she was anything but reassured.

She squeezed my shoulder and stood, gathering my cup and dumping the still hot coffee back into the pot, setting the mug down in the sink. She stared out the window with her hands braced against the base of her back and spoke, her voice soft and calm.

"You don't have to go to school today, if you don't want to…"

"No," I answered quickly, rubbing my eyes, "no I'll go."

She nodded, turning around and folding her arms over her chest. "I'm going to make an appointment, at the clinic for you."

I opened my mouth to protest but she held up a hand. "Kagome I want to be sure you understand all the precautions needed to be taken, and I think you should get a pelvic exam."

I gasped. "Mama –"

"I _don't _want you taking any chances Kagome. I'm here for you and you know I'll always support you if anything ever happens but I want you to be _safe_," she emphasized her last word, shutting her eyes briefly and sighing heavily.

I remained quiet in stunned and horrified shock. When she walked around the table and placed her hands on my shoulders I barely noticed.

"Kagome, I know you don't want to do this, and I'm sure you're right in thinking that you aren't pregnant but…" she bit her lip, "but gods Kagome, you're so _young_. Gods, you could be infected, or…" she breathed out slowly, "I want you safe and I want you free to make your own choices. I can't…I can't stand to see you like this…" and she began to cry.

"Mama…" I said softly, shocked. "Mama…oh please Mama, don't cry," I pleaded, hugging her and gripping the material of her robe in my hands. "Mama don't make me go…they'll stare and they won't say anything but they'll think…" I choked up. "Gods Mama, _please_."

She rubbed my back soothingly. "Kagome shh…you need to know and understand, for all we know you _could _be pregnant –"

"Mama I'm not!" I protested.

"Kagome…!" she pulled away, gripping my shoulders and staring me in the eyes. "Kagome just…just do this…"

"But _why?_" I implored.

"Kagome…" she breathed, "if you ever become a mother, you'll understand…_please_ do this?"

I stared at her. I hadn't wanted to, I really hadn't. To go into a strange place and be touched _there_, I didn't care by whom. And then to be stared at and looked at and…and… Gods I just couldn't do it, the fear of subjecting myself for a doctor to…_inspect _me in places I would very much rather keep private was utterly terrifying. The humiliation would be unbearable. Oh yes, the doctor would stay quiet and go about it all very professionally but…

But my mother had needed this.

"Okay," I had whispered, and she'd let out a huge breath and clasped me to her tightly, sobbing on my shoulder.


	5. Bitterness

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inuyasha.

**Author's Note: **Seeing as it's July I guess it's a little late to be saying this but…

One of my reviewers asked, and yes, the 'Calgary' Flames are a hockey team.

Big thanks to Wendy for the great beta job! Thank you!

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 5**

**Bitterness**

* * *

_Even now, I still feel that if there is anything in my life I never want to go through again, it will be _that

I still cringe every time I remember it; their countless blank stares, stares that hid emotion only to make it all the more visible to me, burning me to the core with shame and humiliation.

I suppose, being that I was twenty at the time, it wasn't such a surprise to the staff. I wasn't some unfortunate teen whose obnoxious boyfriend didn't know how to put a condom on right, but being accompanied by my mother, even while it was comforting to have her presence near, spoke volumes to all in the waiting room and to the doctor herself.

It wasn't exactly painful, but it was anything but comfortable. Being probed in that area was…well it was _un_comfortable. No matter how many times I told myself that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that this happened to women all over the world, that this was a completely professional and medical thing…I simply could not reassure myself. I just _could not _stop the feeling that this was a complete and utter violation of my body and myself. I wanted nothing more than to scream at the doctor to get away from me, to grab my things and run. And somehow I just couldn't escape the sensation of being _dirty_.

Thank the _gods_ I wasn'tpregnant.

I almost felt the urge to laugh in their faces, for what reason even I couldn't imagine, but I felt somewhat better to know that I wasn't expecting _for sure_, though at the same time, I was feeling a little singed that my mother hadn't trusted me enough to believe me the first time.

And I wasn't _contaminated_,as the doctor so nicely put it, with any type of infection whatsoever. I had to restrain myself from yelling 'HA!' just to show my intuition had been right in the first place.

My mother didn't say a word when we got in the car and it seemed her former worry had been abated, but it returned over another matter.

I didn't say anything. I guess I wasn't really mad at her, she was my _mother_ after all; it was her innate instinct to worry. But that didn't mean I couldn't let her suffer a little.

I didn't feel angry, I felt…bitter. And it wasn't just the events of that morning that had me feeling so.

My appointment had been in the morning and early enough that my mother only had to rush two yellow lights, nearly getting herself a ticket, to get me to my first lecture. I didn't say a word to her when I got out, still filled with bitterness, still feeling like I'd been sullied, still feeling the doctor's probing fingers.

The day at first seemed to lighten, but in all reality, it only went from bad to worse.

I guess technically it was my fault.

I was rushing and I didn't stop to think, didn't stop to realize what he would do. I suppose I cannot always depend on Tessaiga to keep me safe from him.

It wasn't as if I was in the wrong though. Houjou was my friend, and just because he's male did not mean I should be forbidden from socializing with him whatsoever.

We didn't even _do _anything. I'd run into him by accident at the library when I was trying to catch up on some notes, and the guy was nice enough to lend me his and help me out with my latest essay for ancient history.

In truth I hadn't even seen or talked to him in ages, although surprisingly enough, he had _still _maintained his schoolboy crush on me. He had pursued me enough during high school, and no matter how hard I had tried, he had always seemed to take it another way. Perhaps he was simply immune to the concept of rejection.

So he'd helped me out for which I was amazingly grateful, and he was even nice enough to buy us some coffee at the end of the day. Now I suppose accepting this offer was leading him on, but I'd had a long day and I was exhausted by lack of sleep since I'd had the late shift at work the night before, and I won't even brush the topic of the appointment that morning. I _needed _caffeine.

Suffice to say he ended up giving me a ride home since I usually took the bus. We had a nice chat, and I gave him a hug and quick kiss on the cheek when I said good-bye.

Now that, I know, was a mistake, and I honestly wish I hadn't done it for more reasons than one. I hadn't meant it in a suggestive way, and I certainly hadn't _done _it in a suggestive way, but I hadn't really been thinking when I did it either. It was quick and innocent, nothing more than a friendly 'thank you', but the second I pulled away after giving him the peck, I knew I shouldn't have.

I nearly cursed right in front of him because of it, and though I usually pride myself on refraining from using swear words, I was prone to say the odd few in times of crises or during an event such as this, a blatant mistake. After all, I _had_ spent five years in the company of a certain hanyou.

The widening of his eyes after my hug showed Houjou's surprise, and I bit down hard on my tongue to bite back the unbidden swear.

"Ano…Higurashi…" he said, and it was transparently obvious that he was going to ask me out. I was torn between simply running and confessing that I only thought of him as a friend.

So I sort of did both.

"Houjou-kun," I'd cut in quickly, searching for the right words. "You're…you're a good…friend."

He smiled…typically. "Ah, thank you, Higurashi."

My smile was a bit less genuine. "You know…I…" Gods, but I didn't know what to say.

And then his face got that incorrigible look of hopefulness, and my stomach twisted with guilt, and I chickened out.

"I've…got to go, see you another time!" I blurted hastily, and I turned around to dash up the steps to the shrine, my bag bouncing on my side, the heavy books hitting my thigh painfully.

Well...that attempt had failed. Utterly.

But I did not let myself dwell upon it, hastening to my room to change into more comfortable clothes, snatching my bag, and hurrying to the well. I was going to visit Shippou since for once I didn't have to work and I'd be damned if I'd let this opportunity slip by.

As I knew he would be, he was there when I arrived. I tossed my satchel out of the well and climbed out, giving him an attempted smile when I saw him sitting against a tree by the trailhead.

Tessaiga was leaning against a stump next to him.

I guess that should have been my warning, but warnings are often only realized _after _their use is no longer worth anything.

He stood and walked toward me. I picked up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder as I waited.

He stopped about a foot away from me, and I was puzzled to see his brows draw down, and that fluttering of nervousness that pitted at the base of my stomach started up again. I hated it when he was angry with me; he downright frightened me when he was and I feared to know what I could have possibly done to upset him.

He stepped close, leaning down to inhale, and then he straightened so abruptly that it startled me.

His angry frown alerted me, and I hastily took a step back.

He was growling, his face a mask of contained fury.

"Inu…yasha…?" I asked hesitantly, biting my lower lip.

He came forward even as I backed up until I was pressed against the well, leaning back as he brought his face down so close to mine that his bangs brushed my forehead.

"Whose scent is on you?" he growled out, and my eyes snapped wide in sudden fright as my heart made a loud thump in my chest.

'_Oh…no…_'was all I thought.

He grabbed me by my T-shirt and jerked me roughly forward, his face hardly a centimeter away from mine.

"_Whose scent is on you?_"he yelled, and I cringed, closing my eyes.

"Answer me! Who the fuck touched you!" he shouted, shaking me with both hands, and my bag slipped from my shoulder to the ground.

"I…I…" I fumbled.

"Damn it, who the hell touched you? And…" he leaned in even closer, sniffing.

The threatening and angry growl was slow, reverberating from his chest and I could feel it as closely pressed against him as I was.

"_Why is their scent on your lips?_"

He didn't shout it, but he said it with such fierce intensity that my throat went dry and my pulse throbbed painfully at its accelerated rate.

"I…"

He was so angry, and I was so scared; I could already see the whites of his eyes bleeding red and sense his youki increasing.

I let out a surprised gasp when he forcefully pulled me against his chest, and I could feel the tips of his claws beginning to pierce my skin.

"Kagome…" he ground out, "don't the stupid males in your world know that men don't share their women"

I tried to push away, but his grip was tight and painful.

"Inuyasha…"

"_Answer me!_" he yelled, lifting me up so that I dangled a few inches off the ground.

"Inuyasha!" I screamed, "Inuyasha, no! No, _no!_"

He just growled, and I could already feel the blood begin to leak, running down my arms from the punctures in my shoulders.

"Inuyasha, no! Stop, stop, _stop!_" I tried, kicking and screaming, gripping his wrists with my hands and crying. "_No!_"

Snarling, he dropped me, and I had a brief moment to gasp in air and think for one beautiful second that it was over.

And then I felt him seize my shirt again, claws easily tearing through the material. Opening my eyes, I looked up to see his own staring back at me…except they were not _his_ eyes anymore. No, not _his_.

They had been demon eyes. Blood red demon eyes.


	6. Laceration

**Disclaimer: **It's simple, Inuyasha isn't mine.

**Author's Note:** So many big thanks going out to Wendy and her sacred red font, kudos for all your wonderful suggestions and reminders to keep me on track, beta snaps for Wendy!

And to any of those wondering or complaining, these chapters are supposed to be short.

Also, for future reference, yes, I am evil.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 6**

**Laceration**

* * *

_I had thought he had been going to kill me._

My neck practically snapped when he wrenched me from the ground, clutching me to his chest and growling deeply and threateningly in his throat, one hand still grasping my shirt as the claws of his left dug painfully into my hip.

I, for one, was too shocked and petrified to as much as squeak. I'd never seen him like this. _Never_. In all our years together, he'd never actually _really _hurt me…not on purpose.

When he slammed me into the ground, I gasped, the air leaving my lungs. My hand went to clutch at my throat as I struggled for air, but a sudden strong grip snatched it away, pinning it to the ground beside me.

Still gasping and choking, I met his scarlet gaze and cowered. With what still remained of the logical part of my mind, I managed to note the absence of the turquoise pupils, although it did not console me.

He had me pinned, his hands keeping my own pressed roughly to the ground, his knees bearing the rest of his weight down on my legs.

"In – Inuyasha…" I gasped out, pleading. The gods were really too cruel if they would let him do this to me, after everything we had been through together.

He did not reply, nor did he say anything for that matter, just snarled and raised one hand, claws extended.

"No!" I shrieked suddenly, thrashing and bringing up my freed hand to slap him across the face, trying desperately to free myself from his clutches.

"_Yes!_" he snarled as he grabbed my flailing arm, growling. The purple stripes were suddenly present on his cheeks, warning me of the rising demon half within him.

"Inuyasha, no! _No, no, no, no, n _– !"

My protests were silenced by his mouth kissing me brutally, his fangs next to ravaging me. I could taste the blood as it seeped into my mouth even as I struggled and squirmed beneath him.

It was a shock when he released me. I barely had time to gasp before one elongated claw tore through my T-shirt and bra, ripping them from my body, and this time it was his hand that stopped me when I attempted to scream.

I panted, my mind screaming for me to do something, _anything_, but when I saw him smirk evilly, his lips pulling back to put those gleaming fangs on display, and those turquoise slits slowly appearing amid those whites of red, my heart just about stopped in my chest.

"_Yes_," he whispered loudly, leaning down to kiss me, his fangs biting again into my lips and scoring my tongue, and I tried to scream.

When he raised his head again, my blood was dripping from his mouth, and for a moment I couldn't think, couldn't speak, and then his hand was over my mouth again, pressing down hard.

'_No,' _I had thought, _'no, no, no, no, no, no, _**NO!**_'_

When he let his hand slide from my mouth, I had screamed it too.

"**_NO!_**"

A brief look of confusion crossed his features, and I had almost believed he was coming to his senses, but then that same evil smirk had slid across his lips, and I felt my next cry die on my lips.

"Yes," he said again, my blood dribbling down his chin.

"Inuyasha…" I breathed, "no."

He grasped the waistband of my pants.

My eyes widened, and my heart had thumped painfully inside my chest as if it were going to break the very walls of my ribcage.

"_No_," I told him urgently, my chest heaving in panic. "_No!_"

I felt his claws scratch my thigh.

I shook my head frantically. "_No – no, no, no – **NO!**_"

His claws scratched me as he ripped the clothing from my legs. I screamed.

He'd shifted his weight off me briefly, discarding my ruined pants, leaning back on his heels, one hand still tightly gripping my wrist, and the other he used to roughly rid himself of his _haori _and under-_kimono_.

The tears arrived abruptly and they stung, and I clearly remember the horrifying sensation of nearly suffocating on my panic, fear, and the salty tears that trickled in my mouth with each sob.

Panic twisted in my gut and compressed my lungs. I squeezed my eyes shut, clenching my teeth and balling my hands into indignant fists. And then I found it, deep inside myself, glowing and pulsing with my heart, and I felt its purifying calm trickle slowly through my panicked mind.

There it was, within my grasp, and I remembered then, _then_, that I was not helpless.

Opening my eyes, I tried to restore some semblance of normal to my choppy breathing. I shivered as I watched him growl, his lips pulling back in another evil snarl, his free hand reaching down to grasp my underwear as he began to lower himself. Screaming, I'd kicked him.

It was obvious he hadn't expected it. His red eyes bulged and locked with mine as he let go of my right wrist and snarled.

I flailed, striking out with my legs, thrashing and writhing, hoping that I'd hit him where it hurt, screaming all the while.

I recall him barking, grasping my flailing wrist and pinning it, kissing me and trying to lower his weight back onto my still kicking legs.

I screamed beneath his mouth, fighting back earnestly. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wrenched my wrist away from him and his claws scored my flesh painfully.

He broke away and snarled something incomprehensible, but the warning in it was unmistakable.

"**_NO!_**" I screamed one last time, and used all my strength to raise my knees and catch him in the gut. Ripping my wrist from his loosened grip and slamming my palm into his bare chest, I released it.

In retrospect, I remember seeing his eyes change. The moment had been so brief, so short, and I was so swamped by everything else that all my other emotions overrode the pithy moment, and it was hidden at the back of my mind where all those other little memories that I never think anything of dwell.

It was when the first shock of my power had sent a tremor through him, a ripple to precede the storm, and only for a millisecond did our eyes lock, but I saw his eyes turn amber, and I saw the recognition suddenly slam into them before the utter horror and shock manifested itself in their depths.

Then the light had exploded and both of us were nearly blinded by its brilliance.

I can vividly recollect the jolt that passed through me; still feel, if I try, all my tiny hairs standing on end as if electrified. My powers flowed through me with such unexpected strength that my entire body convulsed once before everything surged through the outlet of my palm.

If a lightning bolt had passed through me, I can't say it would have felt much different. It had shot from my palm, as would a bolt from the sky, bursting into life like a detonation. Silent thunder exploded in my ears and, for a brief second, everything went white.

When it had ended, my vision cleared momentarily to reveal his limp form lying motionless at the base of the well, but then everything went hazy again as I felt it absorb back into me, the purifying energy settling back inside of me, and my head fell back onto the ground, the strong taste of blood in my mouth.

Dazed and in shock, I waited for the spots that littered my sight to clear before blinking and slowly rolling to my knees, feeling as if I'd been scorched on the inside.

The grass was dead, and even the well was looking a little burnt.

I realized I was more than half naked, but frankly, I hadn't really cared.

Still stunned and waiting for clarity to return, I knelt there in dumb silence, too numb to feel the emotions that should have been running through me.

It had felt like eternity, but in my mind I know that it had taken only a few minutes for him to rouse.

He had looked nothing more than like a lost little boy at that moment, lost and terrified and quaking under the weight of it.

"Ka – Kagome?" he'd stuttered, gulping in short breaths of air, obviously struggling to breathe. "K – Kagome?"

I hadn't said one word. I'd just stared at him wordlessly and feeling irrevocably detached.

"_Kagome?_"

The pleading and fear in his voice almost made me speak, but I stayed silent. Crouched and motionless, I watched him as he attempted to crawl, pulling himself along the colourless grass like a shedding snake, as if he were trying to wriggle from a restraining skin.

Halfway between me and the well, panting heavily and trembling with weakness, he pushed himself to his knees, the veins on his neck large cords as he strained, everything unusually visible on his features.

"Kagome – _Kagome – Kagome!_" he croaked, his scream sounding strangely hoarse, as I stood, regardless of my unclothed state.

Feeling was coming back, but it wasn't pleasant. There was blood in my mouth and on my lips, and I had to spit, almost choking – coughing instead.

Emotions had yet to fully return to me, but I vaguely recognized anger, seething betrayal, and the contorting of fear in my gut.

I turned…and ran.

"_Kagome…! Kago –_"

"_Osuwari!_" I yelled, tears filling my vision as I dashed into the forest, stumbling, the branches and bramble scraping my bare skin. I didn't care.

"_Kagome _–"

"_Osuwari!_" I shrieked, "_Osuwari! Osuwari_,_ osuwari_,_ OSUWARI!_"

Choking on my sobs, I had fled. My naked flesh was soon dirty and bleeding as I ran heedlessly and oblivious through the tangled growth of forest. My hands were soon raw and red from clawing away the branches that blocked my flight. My face was scratched and my hair tangled. I didn't care.

I don't know how I had ended up at the river; I just had.

I hadn't really even realized it until the shocking cold of the water sent goose bumps along my skin, the icy water splashing my thighs as I stumbled in, nearly falling.

Shivering, I tripped on the rocky bed and went under. The cold water filled my nose and mouth as it unconsciously fell open, nearly drowning me when I swallowed. Sputtering and coughing, I gasped when I broke the surface, spewing out the water from my throat, still tasting my bitter blood.

Almost in a drunken haze, I staggered, blinking dazedly at the teardrops in my eyes.

I bit my lip, tasting the saltiness of a warm tear that had trickled from my eye, and my coppery blood.

"Oh…" I whimpered, shuddering once and coughing. Wrapping chilled arms around my bare breasts, I took unsteady steps upstream, against the current, wading slowly, my teeth chattering.

My legs and feet numb from the cold water, I had stumbled along the bank, slipping occasionally on the loose stones of the riverbed, my numb fingers grasping the grassy bank to keep me above water.

Uncaring of my near naked state, I had waded on, eventually crawling upon the dry bank, the tears still warm on my cold skin.

Digging my fingers into the dirt, I had sobbed while I had pushed myself to hands and knees, raising my head and looking through wet bangs that had plastered across my forehead, and sniffling, I felt the mucus run from my nose, mixing with my tears and gathering to fall from my chin.

At first, I hadn't even seen it, but when my eyes spotted it, my sniffles had stopped and my shivering body suddenly stilled.

It had taken only a moment for the reality of what I had been seeing to sink in. Then, gasping painfully, I'd covered my mouth with one hand and had scrambled to the bushes where I'd nearly collapsed, then had begun to vomit violently.


	7. Remorse

**Disclaimer:** Why do I even bother? I do not own Inuyasha. There, I bothered.

**Author's Note: **A great big thank you and extra large beta-snaps go out to Wendy, Master of the Red Font, for this chapter!

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 7**

**Remorse**

* * *

_Sometimes, when you see something that is so unexpected, so incredibly not what you are so sure you are going to see, for a few very long seconds everything stops and your mind will simply not process what your eyes are seeing, and you can't breathe._

When I hadn't been able to puke anymore, I had crawled away and collapsed, and then I'd started crying.

In the back of my mind I wasn't surprised by it. I'd suspected it, yes, seen it coming even, but there had never been anything that I, or anyone else for that matter, would have been able to do about. It didn't make me feel any less worse, however.

I had seen a lot of dead people. _Youkai_, humans…children. After all those years, I had thought I had become immune to most of the nausea and horror that I always used to suffer from.

That day certainly proved me wrong.

I'd puked my guts out to the point where I was dry heaving, but I still couldn't seem to rid myself of the horrid, dirty feeling that had my skin crawling and my conscience screaming.

I think in part it was also _him _though. The bastard had come _that _close to raping me that day. I was entitled to a little relief.

But no – no, I kept telling myself. Not him, not _him_. If only the idiot had held on to his stupid, stupid sword.

Then maybe things wouldn't have turned out the way they had.

But, it had happened, and despite how much I wished it hadn't, there was nothing I could do. What was done was done, and even in a time full of _youkai _and _oni_, priests and priestesses, the power to alter the past was nonexistent. I could not change it.

I had never felt like swearing so much in my life as I had then.

As I wiped my mouth and nose, the snot and bile smeared on the back of my hand. Making a whining sound in the back of my throat, I turned my head away, and slowly shuffled on my knees to the river, immersing my hand in the cold water.

I had had absolutely no idea what I was going to do.

Something had to be _wrong _with him. Gods, we never should have had sex. Never.

I'd sat there, freezing and wet, the autumn air chilling my skin and raising goose bumps all along my flesh. Hugging myself, I tried to pull myself together, but I kept looking down at myself and then behind me at…at…

But I could not let it break me; I had to hold myself together. I had to keep all the pieces locked tight and not let a single one slip. I had to stay whole, because everyone else was broken or soon would be.

I was close, barely holding onto the ledge, but I couldn't let myself fall. I had to keep my grip strong. I couldn't let go, because if I did… I couldn't let myself drown, not in the madness and the despair that just waited beneath me, urging me to let go, to let myself fall into their waiting depths. I had to hold on. I couldn't break. I _couldn't_.

I wasn't scared of him anymore, not he himself, but I was absolutely petrified about…about _life_. About everything, just _everything_, and it was all so ruined and so wrong and I was so afraid… But I had to save him, I _had _to, I just _had to_. Even if saving him meant saving him from me. Yes, it was always _me_.

Taking my numbed hand from the water, I raised it to my face, covering my mouth, trying to quell the emotions, and failing. Even though I tried not to, I sobbed. The sound was muffled by my hand as my eyes closed and the warm tears slid from beneath my lids and down my already streaked cheeks, dropping to the ground.

My lips curled away from my teeth and I shook, the awful sound of my own weeping my only company in the dreadful silence, save for the soft singing of the river.

The warm mucus ran from my nose and I had to wipe it again with my hand, but I still tasted the saltiness on my lips along with my tears, and this time I just wiped my hand on the grass, spitting once.

I turned back, biting my lip, and slowly I crawled over, stopping at his side to gaze down at his face.

I was going to cry again, so I turned away immediately lest my tears fall on his face.

Rubbing my eyes, I once again looked back, careful not to lean over him so that my tears wouldn't fall on him.

His right hand still gripped his _kusarikama_, his blood covered his stomach and pooled around him on the ground. The gruesome cut started on the left side of his stomach and extended upwards and to the right.

The sleeves of his white _kimono _had been tucked under his knees, his blood staining the material a brilliant red. He had fallen backwards after his death, his legs still drawn up beneath his body. A trickle of red stained a line from his mouth to his chin.

There was an odd expression on his face, one that still remains clear in my mind to this day. His features were slack, his entire form limp, but the tight line of his mouth still remained as an obvious sign of the agony he had suffered. But his eyes – his eyes were…strangely calm, emotionless…even peaceful.

"Dear gods," I'd choked, smothering another sob and resisting the urge to vomit again.

"Dear gods, dear gods," I murmured. "What will I tell her?" I asked him, weeping. "What am I going to tell her?"

Choking on my own sobs, I scrambled backwards, away from his corpse, suddenly aware of how very cold I was.

"Dear gods," I murmured again through my tears, wet, hot and sticky on my skin, "what am I going to do?"

Shaking, I lowered my head, still sobbing. "I should have known," I muttered. "But even then I couldn't have stopped you…."

I raised my head. "But – but I understand. I understand…"

I kept muttering incoherently, sobbing and cursing, rubbing my arms and spitting every now and then.

"Stupid, stupid," I cursed. "Stupid. Just stupid. Shit – I – where the heck is the damned sun when you need it? Hell – I want my clothes –_any _clothes, just – just some _damn _clothes, I mean, gods, it's _freezing_! Where the _heck am I anyway?_"

Screaming the last words, I pounded the ground with my fists and looked skyward, straining my neck as more tears coursed a steady stream down my face.

Closing my eyes, I let my head fall, my chin hitting my chest and I slumped, shoulders shaking as I cried.

I am surprised at myself even today that I did not notice him. Not at first anyway.

Silent and wary, he had not said a word, keeping himself a fair distance away, hesitant and strangely patient, waiting for me to acknowledge his presence.

I was sobbing still and had not yet noticed him, but then I felt that unmistakable twinge in my senses that told me _he _was near, and I stopped so suddenly that I forgot to breathe and had to gasp in a lungful of air, nearly choking.

Coughing, I tried to cover myself with my arms, whipping my head around to stare at him.

He was standing there, just standing there; the water not quite up to his knees, the current forming small eddies around his legs. He stood stock still save for the slight breeze that lifted stray tendrils of white hair. He was no longer bare-chested. He wore his under _kimono_ with his _haori _overtop but undone. There was no evident trace of blood on him, none that I could see. He must have washed it off in the river. He wore his sword.

His arms were at his sides, clean claws just visible. There was a certain pain in his expression that made it hard to remember that I still had to breathe. I wondered briefly if he'd seen the body, but his gaze was centered on me.

His eyes had been amber. _That_, I so very clearly remember. It had been _him _that time, _him_.


	8. Virulence

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim to own Inuyasha or any of the Inuyasha characters. All rights go to Rumiko Takahashi.

**Author's Note: **Lots and lots of pocky to the wonderful, witty and watchful Wendy for her enormous help with this chapter that would just not come out the way I wanted, kudos!

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 8**

**Virulence**

* * *

_I had stared at him wordlessly, completely speechless for well over a minute, before I had finally been able to form a coherent sentence to throw at him._

"Why are you here?" I said it with contempt.

He did not move, didn't even flinch. Just stood there.

I turned away, my hair hiding my face, my eyes landing on the body.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he had followed my gaze and was staring at the bloody corpse not four feet away from me.

"Well?" I asked.

He met my eyes. He said nothing.

"_Well!_" I demanded, facing him fully, my arms still hugging my breasts to my chest. I tried not to shiver in front of him. He simply stared.

I fumed. "Aren't you going to say anything?" I thrust one arm out to point a finger at the corpse, my other still tightly wrapped around myself. "Don't you _care!_"

That seemed to hurt, and he flinched.

I waited, but he was still silent.

"Well…?" I asked again.

He closed his eyes, only for a few seconds, and then he opened them, locking them with mine. I swallowed.

"I care," he said hoarsely.

I turned away. "Then why won't you say anything?"

"There's nothing to say."

"_Of course there's something to say!_" I yelled, my head snapping up again.

Shaking his head, he diverted his gaze to the body once again. "He's regained his honour; he no longer suffers from shame."

I choked, sniffling as I tried to hold back another sob. "You jerk. You won't even cry," I accused, "you _never _cry."

His eyes snapped back to mine. His expression stayed the same. "Why cry?" he said indifferently. "He died with honour; he was atoning for his shame. He _wished _to die."

I gripped the sides of my arms. "But…Sango-chan, she –"

"Will understand."

My eyes flashed angrily. "How can you _say that!_"

He remained impassive. "She will understand."

I sobbed, lowering my head. "No. No, no, no, no, no…" I murmured.

When I heard him step up on the bank, I stiffened instantly and I brought my head up hastily to see him pause at the edge, slowly bringing up his left foot. He took a step.

"Don't!" I shouted, holding out a hand.

He stopped.

"Don't – don't come near me!" I warned. I began to shiver.

"You're cold," he said, and slipped off his _haori_, walking towards me.

"No!" I yelled. "_No, **no!**_ Don't come any clos – _don't!_"

Mere feet away from me, he stopped at the urgency in my voice, watching me with a very guarded expression, his eyes lingering on the tears that glistened on my cheeks. I could see the emotions warring in his eyes.

"Kagome…" he whispered.

"_Don't!_"

Dark eyebrows drew down and stepped towards me.

"_No!_"

He threw his _haori _overtop of me.

Angry tears spilling from my eyes, I flailed uselessly for a second before I managed to bunch up the garment in my hands and throw it at him. I clutched myself, glaring at him, seething. "I don't want your filthy clothes," I spat, and his eyes widened and I saw him go rigid.

Stiffly he bent down and snatched up his _haori_.

"Why did you come here," I stated, not asking.

Staring down at his _haori _as he gripped it, he did not raise his head. "Because…" he said slowly, his tone gruff, the tone I was _used _to. "I had to."

I remained silent for a time, hugging myself. "No you didn't," I said softly, and he glanced up sharply.

"No you didn't," I said it louder, and shook my head. He opened his mouth to speak, but my look silenced him.

"It's _over_, Inuyasha," I said, trying to be strong, but even as I spoke the words, the tears fell and I had to look away.

"No…" I heard him whisper, "…it's –"

"_Over!_" I yelled, cutting him off and glaring at him defiantly. Then softer, "it's over."

I stared at the ground, but in my peripheral vision I saw his red clad legs come closer. I stiffened.

"What do you want? I told you – it's over." I wasn't able to understand why he could not accept it.

"No," he said just as firmly, "it's not."

"_Yes, it is!_" I yelled, glaring up at his impassive face. His proximity was making me nervous, but I didn't show it. "Get away from me!"

He folded his arms over his chest, still holding his _haori_, his face now impassive. "You don't understand…do you?" he asked me quietly.

"_Of course I don't understand, you idiot!_" I screamed at him, angry tears spilling from my reddened eyelids. "Why the _hell _should I understand?" I asked, my tone less severe. I began to sob again, and I bent over, one hand braced on the ground while the other still held my breasts.

"You never explained _anything_ to me," I accused, my clogged nose making my voice sound odd. I didn't look up. "All you ever did was – was treat me like your _property_," I spat, choking and swallowing between sobs. The emotions I had held back for so long threatened to spill over all at once, all the confusion, the frustration…the fear. I felt even more confused than before, and he wasn't doing anything to help, either.

"I mean – dear gods – you _nearly raped me!_" I shrieked, shuddering and collapsing on the cool grass, sobbing desperately.

I felt, more than heard him, crouch down next to me.

When he placed the _haori _overtop of me again, I instantly flung it off, sobbing into the ground.

"Go away," I whispered.

Looking up through the gaps in my hair, I could see him looking back at me, hard and unflinching.

I sobbed. "Go away – just go away."

"Kagome…"

"_Go away!_" I screamed at him, clenching my teeth and glowering at him through my tears. "I _hate you!_ _Just leave me alone! Go away!_"

"Kag –!"

"_NO!_" I shrieked, bringing my left fist to the ground. My chest heaved. "I said _no_."

For a moment, I thought he was going to argue, to protest, but he remained motionless and silent, _looking _like he was about to say something, but then he just snorted and walked over to the body, staring down at the boy's face. He gripped the hilt of his sword. "It was bound to end up this way, wasn't it." He did not make it a question.

I had wondered which he had meant, about the boy or about us. The answer was still the same.

"Yes," I answered quietly, almost afraid to say it.

I started when he pivoted, facing me.

"You're cold," he said again.

"I know that." I said it calmly, as if to soothe him.

He turned back to look at the glazed eyes of the dead. Cautiously, he bent down, observing the face indifferently, almost like he was waiting for something. Then he closed the boy's eyes.

"He was very brave," he said solemnly, and I frowned. "He didn't even have a second."

I remained silent.

"I would have been his second," he said, so quietly that I barely heard him. "If he'd asked me, I would have done it." I watched his grip tighten on Tessaiga. "I would have done it; I would have ended his pain." He shook his head. "But he gutted himself and bled to death, no one to end his pain."

"Yes," was all I had said, swallowing hard.

He did not turn towards me, but he lifted his head, gazing straight ahead.

"Sango-chan," I began to say, but had to swallow first, my throat strangely dry. He made no outward show of hearing me. "Sango-chan," I said again, "wouldn't – wouldn't Sango-chan have been his second…?"

He shook his head. "No, Sango wouldn't have let him, she believed in him too much. She'd be strong enough, but she would have tried to change his mind." He hung his head. "She'll be upset, but she'll understand."

I let my head droop. "Will she?" I asked, crying.

I was staring at the ground so I couldn't tell if he was looking at me or not. "If – if she wouldn't let him do it, then why will she understand? Why _now_, why _after? _Why, _why?_" I whispered. "Why?"

"She will," he said, and I looked up. He was still facing away.

"But he was only a boy," I murmured softly.

"He was seventeen, and that's no child," he snapped, and I looked up to see him facing me.

"But he wasn't even _samurai_," I insisted. "Only _samurai _commit _seppuku_."

"Perhaps he wasn't in name," he said, glancing briefly at the dead boy.

I swallowed hard. "Gods – gods _why _though, _why?_" I was weeping again. Gods _damn it_ but I couldn't stop! I mean – gods I was even swearing, _swearing_! Me, _swearing_.

I had to be going insane.

"Don't you know the meaning of honour in your time?"

It stung, but he hadn't said it in a hurtful way.

"Of course we do," I retorted, "we just don't do – _that_, anymore. Not that I know of, anyway," I added.

He walked back over to me, and I stiffened automatically, but he stopped a foot away from me. He lowered himself down into a crouching position, watching me guardedly.

"What do you want," I asked sharply. I was tense and I was already reaching for my power – only to discover in horror that I could barely even tap into it. I was exhausted, utterly and completely, but my frayed nerves were keeping me on edge so that I hardly noticed it, so high-strung up on my pumping adrenaline that I didn't _feel _what my body did. But now – now I could. I could feel the soreness of my cracked lips, the scratches and bruises all over my body, and the cold – oh, the cold, the cold, painful numbness in my toes.

My anger flared again. At him, at myself, at – at everything and _everyone _in this strange time, with all their ancient ways and traditions and narrow-minded opinions…I just – I didn't _belong _here. Not anymore. I had thought I belonged with Inuyasha, but…after what he'd nearly done to me… I just didn't know what to think anymore.

With my sudden awareness of my body, I felt very tired, very tired and extremely weary, and my heart sped up in a near panic. The urge to close my eyes and pass out was almost overwhelming – but no, no, I had to stay awake – _awake damn it!_

He held up his _haori_. "Put it on," he ordered.

"Don't order me around," I snapped.

"You're cold, you're going to get sick, now _put it on_," he persisted.

"Get away from me," I spat.

"Fuck – I _know _I'm half-breed and I _know _I'm shit, but my fucking coat _isn't_, so just put the _fucking thing on already!_" he yelled, his fists curling as the gripped the _haori_. He nearly growled but managed not to, even though he did show his fangs. His facial features struggled to morph back into a state of impassiveness.

My hands curled into fists, my fingers digging into the dirt. "Get away from me, you bastard," I swore, my own lips curling into a scowl. "Just get lost."

As he frowned deeply, it was easy for me to tell that he was struggling with himself and trying desperately not to be angry.

'_He has Tessaiga,' _I told myself, _'he has Tessaiga.'_

He was glaring at me. "Put. It. On."

"No."

The logical thing to do was to accept his _haori_; I was freezing and would end up sick if I continued to stay there for any real length of time. But I couldn't do that. Accepting it would mean forgiveness, and forgiveness would mean he'd defeated me – again, like he always did. And I couldn't let that happen.

"Put it on, Kagome," he sounded tired. "Just put the fucking thing on."

"Go to hell."

"Kagome –"

"_Go to hell!_" I screamed, and I tasted blood when I bit my cracked lip.

"Fuck! _Damn it, Kagome _–"

"_Damn it what!_" I screamed, punching the ground again. "Damn it what, damn it _what! _What, what, what, what, _what!_" I wailed, pounding my fist on the ground, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

And then I felt calloused hands roughly grab me by the arms, heaving me up onto my unsteady feet, and forcing my arms through the wide sleeves of the red _haori_.

It took me a moment to realize what was happening, and with a gasp, I snapped out of my brief trance and screamed.

"No! _No! NO! Get off me! Get off! **Off!** Let me go – let me go – let me **GO!**_" I shrieked, flailing uselessly in his grip, kicking and fighting, biting down on his arm as he wrapped the garment around me. Wriggling desperately, I tapped the last of my energy and power to send a sudden jolt through him, my insides practically burning with the effort.

I had felt all the little hairs on my body stand on end, and I'd felt him jerk, letting me go instantly, and I'd fallen to my knees, already realizing my mistake, but it had been too late. I hadn't even felt myself hit the ground. I had already entered darkness.

_**Seppuku:**_

_**(Sape-puu-kuu)**_

Seppuku_ was considered a privilege for _samurai_ and the nobility. Feudal Japanese history is full of cases of defeated enemies, who were 'forced' by their conquerors to commit suicide. This was considered as a grace. The looser received a chance to keep his honor. _

_If the circumstances allowed it, the ritual suicide was executed in a formal, procedural manner. Even spectators were not uncommon. The suicide candidate was clad in a white _kimono_. Before the final act, he was expected to write his death poem, formerly a practice common for the higher social classes. _

_Now the _seppuku_ candidate was supposed to take a short dagger and cut his abdomen by slicing it from the left lower part of his upper body upwards in right direction. This must have been extremely painful. Then the candidate was supposed to lower his neck. This was the sign for the assistant, the _**kaishakunin**_, who stood behind him, to proceed to the last step - to blow__ **slice** off the seppuku candidate's head - possibly with one blow of his sword. The _kaishakunin_ could be a person close to him, sometimes his best friend. The _kaishakunin_ had it in his hands to shorten the suffering of the one committing suicide by executing a strong and swift blow. _

_Suicide was often committed by _samurai_ warriors and noblemen on the battlefield. Then there was no time for the above ritual and _seppuku_ was done hastily. _

_Suicide was not unique for men. For women existed the practice of stabbing into the heart with a knife or a long and sharp hair-pin. (**A/N: **it could also be done by slitting their throat with a small knife.)_

**_Reasons for _seppuku**

Seppuku_ was traditionally used as the ultimate protest when one's own morals stood in the way of executing an order from the master. It was also permissible as a form of repentance when one had committed an unforgivable sin, either by accident or on purpose. Finally, in the feudal period _**_1190_****_-_****_1867_**_ it was the form of punishment preferred in cases where the subject required an honourable, but necessary, death sentence, such as the _**_47 Ronin_**


	9. Grief

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inuyasha, I make no money doing this, unfortunately for me making money involves tills and groceries.

**Author's Note: **Transition chapter, and the shortest yet…! Remember, these chapter are _supposed _to be short. The next one will most likely be longer but no promises.

As always wonderful thanks go out to my awesome beta, Wendy, who knows my stories better than even me. ;)

* * *

**  
**

**Inevitable **

**Chapter 9**

**Grief**

_

* * *

_

_I would later find out, hours after I had awoken, that I had been unconscious for two days, but when the first pieces of consciousness had returned, and with it the pain, the duration of my 'sleep'had beenthe last thing on my mind._

The stiffness and soreness of my limbs came after the feeling of being cold and covered in sweat, the headache and the nausea soon after.

My movement was restricted and I had to throw up, but I barely even managed to roll over and drag myself off the futon. I was only just holding back the urge to puke my guts out when I heard the _shoji _door slide open. There was a pause before a loud _thump_, the soundof something being set down hurriedly, and then suddenly there were cool, clean hands holding back my hair, and there was a bucket in front of me and there was the acrid taste of vomit burning my throat.

And I was crying.

Only after she had helped me back to the futon and tucked the blankets up to my chin, and wiped my bangs from my sweaty forehead, did I actually register the face.

Then, I remembered and my sobbing began anew.

She hushed me and whispered softly and wiped my face with a cool cloth, cleaning away the salty tears. When my cheeks bulged she had the bucket and was holding back my hair again. When I finally shoved it away, she wiped my mouth and tucked me in again.

By that time, I was too sore and tired and sick to cry anymore, and all I could say was, "I'm sorry."

But she just smiled and shook her head and helped me sit up. Offering her support, she rested my head on her shoulder and forced me to drink the _ocha _even though I told her 'no' and that I wished to throw up again.

When she could no longer make me swallow what she poured down my throat, she eased me down and covered me with blankets again, but soon had to help me up again to the latrine.

Once again, she had to tuck me in, and once again, she made me drink the tea, but it had cooled and I spat it out. So silently she lay me back down and took the tray, sliding the _shoji _open and then closed behind her.

In less than ten minutes, she had returned with a fresh pot of _ocha_ that was so fresh that it burned my tongue, but she made me take it anyway.

Eventually, coughing and having thrown up once more, she helped me lay down again and placed a cool cloth smelling of _ocha _on my forehead. Then, straightening up her little tray, she stood up as if to leave.

"W – wait…" I rasped, reaching out a heavy arm that fell to the floor beside me when I could not hold it up. "Wait…Sango-chan…"

"Yes, Kagome-chan?" she asked, kneeling and setting the tray down beside the futon. "What is it?"

I started crying again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

"Shh, do not say such things, Kagome-chan. Do not shame yourself with blame." She smiled sadly.

I shook my head. "I should have known…if – if only…then – then I could have done something…"

"No." Her voice was firmer than I had expected and it startled me.

She sighed. "No, Kagome-chan. There is only shame to be found in tears. Please don't blame yourself. He died with honour…" her voice cracked, "…he – he is…" The first tear made its way down her cheek, and her voice shook with a sob. "…He – he no longer has shame…he – he died with honour…" She began to weep, and covered her eyes with one hand.

"Please – please forgive my shame," she whispered, and I could see she was struggling as she tried to hold back her tears. "Forgive me…it is shameful to grieve like this… I – I…" but she was choking on her words, and I could see her shoulders shaking as she cried.

"Sango-chan…" I whispered, and held out a weak hand to grasp her left hand that rested on her knee. She did not look up.

"Sango-chan, there's no shame in grieving – don't – don't do this to yourself," I pleaded through my own tears. "Sango-chan, it's not your fault…"

The sudden feel of her hand clutching mine made me jerk, but I met her teary gaze after she had wiped the tears from her eyes.

"You do not understand, Kagome-chan," she told me bluntly. "Kohaku, he – he was ashamed. He felt dishonoured but –" she covered her mouth with her free hand, new tears running down her face. "If only he would have listened to me…" and she was sobbing again, and all I could do was hold tightly to her hand and cry with her.

"Sango-chan…"

She shook her head, pulling away.

"If – if only he had asked me…I – I could have ended the pain for him but…" her voice rose and broke off in another sob. "I would have been his second. I would have…"

"Would you?" I couldn't help but ask, my own voice high and raspy.

Her crying momentarily stopped, and she looked up to meet my gaze, her hand falling limply to her lap. She sobbed once, then said, "…no…" and began to weep again.

She sobbed into her hands, and although I knew she was trying desperately to stop it, she could not. When I tried to comfort her, she tore away, wiping furiously at her eyes and then rubbing her hands on her apron, blinking almost angrily as she tried to rid herself of the tears.

"Sango-chan –"

"No, Kagome-chan," she cut me off, her voice gentle but firm. She wiped at her eyes. "Please, I beg of you, take no notice of my grief, please. My brother…" she had to swallow hard, "…he died with honour and I hope his soul will be blessed in the next life for it surely was not in this one…" Then she had to turn away, shaking her head and murmuring things to herself that I couldn't hear.

She had then turned around, wiped at her eyes, smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her _kimono_,and walked over to pick up the tray, her eyes still red. And then she had left, opening and closing the _shoji_ behind her, and when she came again, I said nothing and neither did she.

It had not been until the second day that someone else had come to see me.


	10. Revelation

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Inuyasha. But you already knew that. Go figure.

**Author's Note: **As always, due thanks to Wendy and her Super Beta Skills, for whom without, this chapter would be incomplete!

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 10**

**Revelation**

* * *

_Morning had come and so had impatience. The nausea from the day before had gone, and I had been left feeling weak, tired, and drained. But I'd wanted out._

I'd already missed a full day of classes, and I'd long ago decided that I had done enough of that in my youth, but by the looks of it, I would be missing a second day as well. I winced at the thought of my frantic mother; she would be tearing out her hair with worry by now.

I thought of Shippou and of how my intended visit had gone so very terribly wrong, and I swallowed hard, wishing that I could just _move_.

My arms were lead weights beneath the sheets, my legs much the same, and after the sickness of yesterday, my body was left weakened, my strength depleted in the wake of recovery.

And I had to pee.

'_Crapt,'_ I thought, and wondered why Sango-chan had not yet come. I whimpered and felt a tear leak from my eye as I cursed silently at my weakness.

But then the _shoji _slid open and I breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring the uncomfortable revelations of yesterday and speaking out, the sound of my own voice surprising me.

"Sango-chan, I need to –"

The words died on my lips. That was not Sango-chan…

He stood in the doorway, his familiar smile adorning his face, but somehow it just didn't seem quite so genuine anymore. And I found I missed it.

Slowly, he walked into the room, kneeling down beside me. He left the _shoji _door open.

'_What the hell?' _I had thought then, so naïve. _'They always close the doors…not that paper doors do much for privacy anyway, but…'_

"How are you this morning, Kagome-sama?"

My thoughts jerked back to him and I turned my head to face him, trying to smile reassuringly.

My voice was as croaky and soft as before. "I'm fine, Miroku-sama."

He smiled again and I almost found it encouraging.

"I am so glad to hear it."

I floundered for a moment in the silence that followed, waiting for him to say something. But he did not.

"Ah…Miroku-sama, I have to…"

He saw the slightly frantic look in my eyes and he laughed. The sound surprised me. I had not heard it for so long.

"Ah, of course, how rude of me not to ask. 'So sorry. Here..."

And to my utter shock, he gently folded the blankets to the side and slid his gentle and strong arms beneath me.

A strangled squeak wormed its way out of my throat. "Miroku-sama…!"

Chuckling softly, he said, "Do not worry, Kagome-sama. I cannot touch you now."

'_What?' _I had thought, almost voicing it. But in the end, I had remained silent, still so naïve.

Lifting me gently enough that he actually surprised me, he carried me across the room, but he seemed to be having a little trouble, limping slightly and his fingers beneath my knees always flexing.

"Miroku-sama?" I asked him worriedly as he passed the already open _shoji_ and slid open the one on the adjoining wall. He didn't have his crutches but I had seen him with them only a week before although he had looked relatively well.

"Are…are you okay…?"

He smiled at me and nodded, saying nothing and stepping onto the porch, and I turned my head and found myself looking out over a simple, but very pretty garden. He did not stop though, but walked with me across the porch, descended the steps and brought me to the privy. He set me down, and, to my absolute horror, positioned himself behind me and held me up so I could squat over the hole, then his hands moved to lift up the skirt of my _kimono_.

"_Stop!_" I had shrieked at him, almost panicking. He had been about to touch me there, _there_…well _near _there, but it was all the same, and that revived memories that I wished more than anything that I could just will away…but I could already feel them. Claws, pinning me to the ground, blood red eyes full of malice set in a face covered in _my _blood, the feel of fangs in my flesh, sinking deep and –

"Kagome-sama?"

My eyes snapped open to look up at his. I opened my mouth, trembling slightly and swallowing hard. I couldn't find the words, they were lost and I couldn't rid myself of the dirty feeling I suddenly felt, the fear crawling beneath my skin.

"_Don't_," I pleaded.

His smile was sad, and he bowed his head. "'So sorry, Kagome-sama, so sorry." He looked up. "Can you do it yourself?" He ignored my fear and panic, did not acknowledge it.

I felt a little chagrined at the question. _'I'm not paralyzed!' _I remember wanting to shout at him.

I frowned indignantly. "Of course I can."

He nodded sagely and said nothing, slowly easing his arms from beneath my armpits. Letting me support myself with my hands on the seat, he stood and took a few steps back.

I stared at him expectantly. He raised an eyebrow after a period of anticipating silence. I finally sighed in exasperation. "Miroku-sama! Turn around!"

He almost looked surprised for a moment, and then he laughed, and I realized that I really did miss that sound. I almost cried.

"Ah, 'so sorry, Kagome-sama. After spending so much time in the village, I've once again grown used to the normal customs. I forget women are so modest in your time, 'so sorry." And he turned around.

I bristled. I was sick of stupid, overtly traditional, and narrow-minded feudal Japan. In all truth, I felt like a foreigner thrust into an entirely different world. Even after five years, sometimes I still felt that even though this was my native country, my understanding of the time was just scratching the surface, the tips of grass beneath the frost. I just wanted to go home. So I yelled at him.

"What?" _'The _normal_ customs?' _I sputtered for a moment. "Well – well what about Sango-chan? _She's _modest, and she's not from _my _time!" I accused.

I saw his shoulders stiffen.

"Sango is different," he said tightly, but his voice was soft. "And do not raise your voice so, Kagome-sama. One who smiles rather than rages is always the stronger."

My mouth fell open as if to protest, but I shut it, blinking in surprise when I felt tears sting my eyes. No, I would _not _cry.

Then he said, his voice still so quiet I could barely hear, "Yes…Sango is very special." But I did not think he was speaking to me.

I took a breath, trying to hold myself up. It wouldn't do to tell him I could barely do it and that I was near to falling right off the latrine. When would 'enclosed bathrooms' be invented anyway?

I blinked once, willing away the prickles in my nose and the stinging behind my eyes, and I tried to continue holding myself up, but my arms were shaking violently under the strain.

"Kagome-sama?" I heard him say, a tinge of questioning in his voice.

"I'm fine," I answered, gritting my teeth. I could and I _would_ piss on my own!

The urge to cry was becoming harder to ignore, and suddenly my arms gave way and I fell down onto the seat, my butt sinking through the hole just a little. This thing reminded me of the potty we'd used to toilet train Souta, and a sad smile touched my lips.

"Kagome-sama? Should I –"

"I'm _fine_," I repeated, but I sniffled and wiped my nose with the back of my hand, and a glistening trail of mucus painted a sticky line to my wrist.

I could not stop the dry chuckle that seemed to pass though my lips of its own accord. I blinked, a tiny tear escaping even as the rueful smile pulled at my lips.

"Kagome-sama?"

"I – I'm fine. Ah –" I glanced around. "There's no paper."

"I shall fetch a servant."

He took a step, then stopped. He seemed about to ask something, and I waited, but he finally walked on, turning to follow the path of stones back to the house. I watched him walk up the steps, across the porch, and through the _shoji_, closing it behind him.

I frowned for a moment, the heavy weight of reality choosing a strange moment to crash down on my senses. My shoulders sagged and another tear fell.

"I want my mama," I whispered, and the tears came freely. I half forgot just why the hell I was sitting in the middle of a garden, sitting in a hole cut in a wooden seat with a bucket beneath, and I wished more than anything that I could just leave.

"Mama," I whispered once more, and then I broke down completely, my hands gripping the sides of the seat as I cried.

My head was bowed, so it was not until I heard the very polite and soft voice of a girl saying, "Miko-sama?" did I look up.

She bowed immediately and held out the paper.

Momentarily in a daze, and thankful for her overlooking my tears, it took me a second to realize why she was there and why she was offering me the paper.

But only a second.

I blinked quickly, then reached out to take the paper from her hands, but afterwards simply sat on the bench, looking at her.

She smiled, asking politely, "Do you wish for assistance, Miko-sama?"

"Th – thank you," I said, nodding.

She straightened and smiled, bowing again and stepping behind me, holding me up, letting me lift the skirt of the _kimono_ out of the way. I wasn't wearing any underwear so there was one less problem to worry about.

I used the paper, discarded it, and the girl helped me stand, lending her shoulder and wrapping an arm around my other.

"Thank you," I told her again, but she just smiled at me and helped me back up the path, and when we reached the house, Miroku-sama was waiting on the porch and he came down to assist me up the steps. They both eased me down into a cross-legged position upon a cushion that had been set out for me. Miroku-sama seated himself across from me on another cushion. A small table with a tray that held a pot and two small cups for the _ocha_ sat between us.

He waved a hand to dismiss the maid, and she bowed and left through the _shoji_, leaving it open behind her.

I stared at the open door. Sango-chan always closed it.

The sound of a liquid being poured brought me back, and I watched Miroku-sama gracefully pour the _ocha _in both cups. Setting the pot down, he handed me a cup.

At first I didn't take it, my eyes, for the first time that day, landing on his left hand that rested on the side of the little cup, three fingers gone, bandaged in white, his two other fingers keeping the cup balanced with his other hand.

"Kagome-sama?"

"Oh," I whispered, feeling a sob wind its way up my throat and through my lips. A silent tear fought and fled, running down my cheek and escaping to my lap. "Your hand."

He looked so – so very, very _sad_, but he smiled anyway and held the cup a little closer.

"Have some _ocha_, Kagome-sama, it will make you feel better."

'_Yes, have some _ocha_, drink the tea, drink the stupid, stupid tea, and everything will go away.'_

He waited for my hands to steady before letting go and taking up his own in one hand. Blowing off some of the steam and sipping, he looked out over the garden.

I stared at the green tea in my cup, but did not drink. My thoughts were elsewhere.

"Is the _ocha _not to your liking, Kagome-sama?"

I looked up, surprised. "Ah – no, no, it's…I was just thinking, that's all," I said, then took a sip, trying not to spit it out when it burned my tongue.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked politely.

I looked up. "I…I just wondered where Sango-chan was."

He nodded. "Ah – she is seeing to matters concerning her brother."

"Oh," I murmured suddenly feeling ashamed.

He cleared his throat, and I looked up.

"I would ask of you one thing, Kagome-sama," he said.

I took a careful sip of my _ocha_.

"Yes, Miroku-sama?"

He took another sip of his _ocha_. "I would ask you, on behalf of Sango, that you ignore her grief. It will only shame her to do otherwise, Kagome-sama. Please, for her sake," he added, lowering his voice. His eyes met my gaze, and I could see he was very serious.

I took a long sip from my cup, trying to calm myself and not scream at him. Slowly, I set my cup down. "So…" I began, trying to keep my voice level, "if I tried to comfort Sango-chan, because she is my _friend_, then, _that_ would be _shaming _her?" I could not keep the incredulous note of anger from creeping into my voice.

Miroku-sama sighed heavily. "Please try to understand, Kagome-sama, it is obvious things have changed much in your time –"

'_You could say that again.'_

"– but please, just be patient with us. Remember the saying, 'obey the customs of the village'," he said, smiling at the end.

'_Do I have a choice?' _I'd thought, and I would have said so, if not for the soft voice, an inkling of a memory.

"_No, Kagome-chan. There is only shame to be found in tears."_

I blinked once, then reached for my _ocha_, sipping, keeping my eyes lowered and ignoring Miroku-sama.

"_Please – please forgive my shame. Forgive me…it is shameful to grieve like this…"_

Choking on the tea as it went down, I spluttered briefly.

"Kagome-sama?"

"_Please, I beg of you, take no notice of my grief, please."_

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, setting the cup back down.

"Kagome-sama?"

"I promise, Miroku-sama," I said quietly.

"Eh, Kagome-sama?"

I looked up at him, nodding. "I promise, Miroku-sama," I said, louder. Then softer, "I will respect Sango-chan's grief, I will not shame my friend."

He smiled at me and took another sip of his _ocha_. "Was there anything else you wished to ask, before, Kagome-sama?" he offered casually.

My brow creased in a frown, and I glanced to the open _shoji_. "Well…I wondered," I cast my eyes to my _ocha_, feeling a little silly, "Sango-chan always closes the _shoji _doors. I just wondered…why you do not?"

A faint look of surprise flashed across his features, but it was quickly replaced by a soft smile.

"Ah," he began "you see…you are with Inuyasha now."

I felt myself stiffen at the statement. I said nothing.

"With _youkai_, matrimony is the same as with humans. It is one in the same, yes?"

"But I am not his wife," I said indignantly, confused.

"Ah, yes," he said. "But to Inuyasha, it does not matter. He still views you as his wife and so it does not matter."

'_Of course it matters,'_ I had thought, my spine going rigid, but I had nodded, suddenly impatient to know the reason.

"Well, for a wife to be found alone with another man behind closed _shoji_…the husband then has the right to kill or order the death of his wife."

The cup of _ocha _fell from my fingers, but I did not notice.

Miroku-sama frowned. "Kagome-sama?"

"I…" I swallowed. "I…I'm sorry, what?"

His eyebrows drew down, and he set his cup back on the tray, reaching over to pick up my fallen cup.

"I shall send for a –"

"No!" I grabbed his wrist.

He stilled, watching me guardedly. I gulped, and let go of his wrist.

"Ah…" I licked my lips. "But…but what if…if they're just talking?"

He cocked his head. "You mean, a man with another's wife?"

I nodded.

He shook his head. "No, Kagome-sama, no matter how innocent the conversation may be, it makes no difference behind a closed _shoji_. A man can still kill his wife for it. He can beat her to death if he so wishes, even if she simply displeases him. A wife belongs to her husband. She is his property."

I suddenly felt cold.

"Of course," he said thoughtfully, sitting back, "I know that not all _youkai_ are the same, such as the lowly ones of course, but the ones that take on the forms of humans have rules that are in accordance with much of the laws of our court. They are as equal to any _daimyo _as much as any other human feudal lord – though sometimes with even more power, _hmm_? They must act accordingly."

I swallowed hard, but I didn't say anything.

"Kagome-sama?"

"I – I think I'd like to go back to bed, Miroku-sama. I must have exerted myself too much. Sorry."

"Ah, no, no, 'so sorry, Kagome-sama, do not blame yourself. I should have let you rest longer. I'll send for a servant."


	11. Apathy

**Disclaimer: **I believe it's safe enough to say that we all know none of us own Inuyasha. Even me.

**Author's Note: **Oh my god…I haven't updated this 'fic in over a month! And I thought I'd be able to update this thing regularly… Apparently not.

Another transition chapter, and much, _much_ thanks goes to Wendy and her ultra beta-supremeness, for which without, this chapter would be incomplete. All bow down to her now. Yes, you too.

* * *

**  
Inevitable**

**Chapter 11**

**Apathy**

**

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**

_I had lain in bed for what must have been an hour; lost in a thoughtless void where the only thing I hadf elt was emptiness, a great, consuming emptiness that I'd been threatening to lose myself in._

And it hadhurt.

I couldn't think – there were no thoughts – just that empty hole inside of me that swirled around in the pit of my stomach, twisting and turning in my gut, winding itself tighter and tighter, all the while my eyes staring, listless and unseeing, at the ceiling.

He could kill me.

Of course, I had always known he was capable of it; often enough, I had seen him take down a _youkai _with a single swipe, tearing it apart as if it were paper – effortlessly. I had, like the stupid little girl that I'd been, thought nothing of it at the time, hadn't given a moment's thought to how easily those claws could rip and tear _me_ apart.

For years, I had witnessed him kill – humans and _youkai _alike – all with such ease, for him it seemed like breathing.

So naïve and stupid I had been then, and all those adolescent years before spent looking for shards.

It was neither Sango-chan nor Miroku-sama who came to relieve me of my thoughts, but – strangely – Hiroshi-san himself.

Three years before that inevitable confrontation with Naraku, a lord had been issued to Kaede's village, by what _daimyo _I can't now recall, nor remember from any of my history classes, but I doubt that really matters.

Mura-san, the village headman, had issued months before his arrival the building of a house on a much grander scale than any of the other houses of the simple village.

I had no idea what was occurring at that time, and it was Miroku-sama who took the liberty to explain – being the information gatherer that he was – but all throughout the months preceding this new 'lord's' arrival, Inuyasha remained silent and withdrawn and moody, even more so than usual.

I remember the night I'd finally gone to speak with him, sitting down next to him without so much as a word, just as I always had.

At first, he'd said nothing – as he always did – but as the stars began to appear, he mentioned, trying to sound indifferent, what troubles our group would face once this new _samurai_ arrived.

Confused, I had asked him why, and he, of course, did not reply until after another stretch of silence. Even now, I remember his words.

"_He'll…he'll come in here and order us around. _Samurai _are all pompous bastards who think shit of anyone without a title and everything of their liege lord. He'll do the exact fucking same to us – he'll tell us what to do and make us give up our travels."_

I'd been shocked at his words, granted, but then I'd asked, _why?_ still sensing there was something else he wished to say.

"_Why the hell do you think why? Because he's _samurai _and _samurai _do everything better then us 'common' folk. He'll think once he's here that _he _can decide where we go and what village we'll go to next, or he'll just get the idea that his own men can do the job."_

After that, I myself had remained quiet in thought, my own concerns beginning to grow, but after much thought and tense silence, I had asked him, _is that all?_ because, with Inuyasha, there was _always _something more, something hidden.

And so he'd told me, in that gruff, embarrassed way he'd admit things:

"_And he'll kick me out. I'm _hanyou_."_

I'd had no reply for that one, but I still remember the feel of his calloused hand beneath mine as I'd held it in a pathetic attempt to reassure him.

The months before the impending arrival of the _samurai_ passed, and during that time the tension in our group managed to thicken and grow like the vines that tangled the inside of the Bone Eater's Well, to the point that Inuyasha wished to leave.

However, Hiroshi-san was not what any of us expected.

He was honourable – at least in accordance to _Bushido_, the _samurai _code, although in my opinion some of the things he did were not all that honourable at all, even if I was native-born Japanese. Time differences altered my views too much for that.

He was arrogant, to a certain extent, but then he was _samurai, _and with my limited encounters with _samurai, _I knew them all to naturally have a little of that haughtiness and apathy that came from power.

But…Hiroshi-san was…different, in that he was not pretentious or above the rest of us.

Hiroshi-san was in his forties when he originally came to the village with a wife and one consort, two sons and one daughter.

We saw him once at his arrival, surrounded by an escort of _samurai_, riding a horse with two younger men on either side (who we had later learned were his sons) and two palanquins behind them, no doubt carrying his wife, consort and daughter.

He'd smiled, greeted us congenially – we'd bowed, and then he'd gone into his house.

Not once had he ever come to us to give us orders or demand that Inuyasha leave. In fact, for the first entire month that he lived in the village, he never visited us at all. We only caught brief glimpses of him when he walked through the village, but nothing more.

It was not until later did he invite us for _ocha _in his home.

Miroku-sama was the only one of us who'd gone, he, of course, being the logical choice. Inuyasha, obviously, knew very little of etiquette or negotiating, Sango-chan was qualified well enough, but some of the _taiji-ya _views differed slightly from the rest of regular society, and I…well, I knew next to nothing of the proper way in which to treat a _samurai_, let alone how to 'make arrangements' with him.

When Miroku-sama returned, it was not quite as we'd suspected.

He'd merely shrugged and told us that Hiroshi-san simply requested reports on our progress and wished to know of any threats to the village or his liege-lord should we happen upon any.

After that, the tension slowly dissipated, and every once in a while we were invited to dine with Hiroshi-san himself.

He was a wise man, with eyes that knew more than the lines on his face suggested, and his smile was strangely calming and contagious, even though it was slightly crooked and his front teeth were spaced too far apart.

Most of the village had acquired a great respect for the man and all that he did. I liked him, although I didn't hold his sons in quite as high regard. Ryota did not have the control his father did, and lost his temper rather easily even though he obviously struggled to correct it. And Kenji was…not necessarily unpleasant, but always withdrawn and quiet to the point that his presence made me nervous.

His wife, Naoko-san, was quiet and demure and much too traditional for me to feel at ease with in the same room, although his consort, plump and once-pretty Sumiko-san was much more pleasant and not as proper – so to speak – and her daughter, Yoko-san, was very similar to her mother, though much slimmer.

Sango-chan didn't get along quite so smoothly with Yoko-san though, but that was obviously due to Miroku-sama and his incurable habit of flirting. However, four years after Hiroshi-san's arrival, eighteen-year-old Yoko was married off and moved away. She came back often enough to visit her mother, though.

It was the sound of the _shoji_ sliding open that had shaken me from reflection, and opening my heavy lidded eyes, I looked up to see the stout, but firm, figure of Hiroshi-san standing in the doorway.

And as I always remember him now, he was smiling.

"Hello, Kagome-san, how are you feeling?"

And I had wished then that his smile would just go away.


	12. Reticence

**Disclaimer: **I own a hat. A really nice hat, too. But I don't own Inuyasha.

**Author's Note: **Hope everybody had a very happy Christmas/Hanukah/Kwanza and a very happy New Year! Aside from the flu infecting myself and other various family members throughout the holidays, mine went well enough.

Apologies for the long duration of my not-updating – procrastination is really not your friend.

And last, but not least, I must thank Wendy for her superb beta job, as it always is. This story would be incomplete without her.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 12**

**Reticence**

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_I hadn't been in the mood for tea, but by the time I had been helped out onto the veranda, Hiroshi-san had already ordered a fresh pot to be brought out, and he had even poured my cup himself, so any protesting on my part would have been extremely rude and disrespectful. Besides, at the time my mood had hardly been in a state of security, and his show of kindness to me had been more touching than I would have thought. _

I had not yet eaten that day, however, and after the former day's bout of nausea and all horridness in general, my stomach felt so empty that it cramped. I was beginning to feel lightheaded, but I listened silently to Hiroshi-san's prattle anyway, too timid and stubborn to ask for food, not to mention for worry of being disrespectful.

However, Hiroshi-san had already anticipated my hunger, and a simple bowl of _miso _soup was brought for both he and I. The soup had eased my stomach's ache, but it hardly dissipated it completely, and I had sat there, mutely resigned.

Congenial and apt for conversation as ever, the old _samurai_ had chatted on amiably for a good part of an hour, although I can hardly recall much of it now, except that at one point he did mention that the typhoon season seemed to be picking up that year.

But as the simple meal had drawn to a close, a tiny knot of dread began twisting in my gut; as I knew the real reason for which Hiroshi-san had bothered to spend this time with me, other than the politeness and honour in general, would soon surface from beneath his smiling façade.

More _ocha_ was brought, and I quickly poured his cup to be polite, and he returned the favour, smiling at me. But despite his toothy grin that I had always found so infectious before then, I could not return the expression in earnest, and that knot of dread kept curling away.

"You look much improved, Kagome-san," he'd said, for what must have been the fifth time that day. But in his tone, I caught an edge that cut at the knot in my stomach, and a sharp pang seared up my throat.

Unable to verbalize a reply, I bowed my head respectfully.

He smiled. "The past three days have treated you well."

"Three da…" I tried to catch myself, but the words had already slipped.

"Ah, of course, 'so sorry, you would not remember such a thing," he went on smoothly.

My mouth had opened to say something to respond, but he was chattering on again, observing two arguing sparrows as he did so.

"Kaede-san was very enthusiastic to ensure your lodging here – much better ventilation here. Ah, yes…she did frequent your room very often the first day, and Inuyasha-san came to see you once –"

"When? I – I mean…'so sorry, please…please forgive my outburst, Hiroshi-sama," I blushed deeply.

He blinked once, appearing more amused than angered, and then he waved his hand casually, brushing it aside. "Ah, no, no; no need to apologize, Kagome-san. Inuyasha-san came the day following your original placement here. Inuyasha-san was very concerned for Kagome-san's condition."

My tongue felt strangely thick in my mouth, and forming a tiny smile and nodding was a great deal harder than one would expect. The feeling in my gut only tightened, and my feelings in regards to…_him_, were hardly swayed.

I'd sipped my _ocha_. I remember it being hot.

"How is…Inuyasha-san doing now, if I may ask, Hiroshi-san?"

"Ah, Inuyasha-san is not here, Kagome-san. 'So sorry."

I'd wondered where he could have possibly gone, and I felt something entwine itself in the quickly tightening knot.

"I see. How – how was he when…how was Inuyasha-san the last time you saw him, Hiroshi-san?"

"Very bad, Kagome-san. Terrible."

"Ah – yes. Of course."

"Inuyasha-san insisted he was not sick and was very intent upon leaving," he'd paused and taken a sip of _ocha_. "Inuyasha-san said he had business to take care of and left soon after seeing Kagome-san."

"Ah…did…" I trailed off. It would be rude to ask what this "business" of his was, and Hiroshi-san was much too polite to have asked him as it was.

"Inuyasha-san did not say."

"Ah." Then I had sipped my _ocha_, horrid thoughts tripping through my mind, all the while beneath Hiroshi-san's discreet gaze that had me crawling beneath my skin amid the chaos.

"More _ocha_, Kagome-san?"

"Ah, yes, please, thank you, Hiroshi-san."

"It is a beautiful day, is it not?"

"Yes."

"Very good weather, this past week. But the storms will be bad this year – yes, very bad."

"How so, Hiroshi-san?"

"Ah, very bad feeling in my bones, yes. Too many seasons I've lived through – my body's learned the weather."

"Yes, of course." And then I'd laughed, I believe, but it had sounded so fake to me. I wonder if Hiroshi-san had noticed. I believe he would have.

"Perhaps Kagome-san will feel apt to a stroll around the garden? Do you think your legs would permit you to do so?"

"Ah, I believe so, Hiroshi-san. Thank you."

He'd helped me up, and surprised me with the strength in his hands. But _samurai_ don't carry swords around as decoration; of course he'd be strong.

The details, though many are so sharp they surprise even me with their clarity, that walk is very hazy now, but I can recall the lovely sounds of the birds twittering among the branches, flitting to and fro. I remember the peace, the feeling of tranquility and safety, the comforting presence of Hiroshi-san at my elbow, the tiny fish that sparkled in colours of orange beneath the surface of the pond. I remember that.

At one point, Hiroshi-san had turned to me and said, "How was Inuyasha-san, last time you saw him?"

A silence had stretched and pulled away the words. The question was bolder than most I'd ever received from the aging man, but I'd felt obligated to tell him – something, _anything_, to help explain everything even though I'd doubted that he'd understand.

"Very bad, Hiroshi-san. Very bad."

And then the brisk steps of a servant had intruded upon our short excursion, and bowing at Hiroshi-san's feet, I can still hear the girl's words in my head.

"Please excuse me, Hiroshi-sama, but Inuyasha-sama is requesting Kagome-sama's presence."


	13. Perpetuation

**Disclaimer:** Creativity to devise a catchy, humourous disclaimer to simply state the fact that the ownership of the manga/anime Inuyasha does not fall to me, but to that of Rumiko Takahashi, has left me.

**Author's Note: **Fast(er than usual) update. Because I'm nice (but evil). Blame Vivaldi's _Four Seasons; L'estate_ (summer)_ III: Presto_. Ah – the _tension_ in that piece.

And let's not forget Wendy, whom we all love and worship for her masterful beta-reading.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 13**

**Perpetuation**

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_These days, when sometimes I get lonely and nostalgic, especially about things I never had, or barely had, I'll think of Hiroshi-san. He reminds me of my father – someone I had, once, but barely._

Still bowing with her eyes to the ground, the servant girl didn't say a word as the long seconds had ticked past, Hiroshi-san appearing neutral save for his eyes that had gone into contemplation. After a time, he had turned his face to me, eyes clear and unclouded but hiding everything and nothing. He was so good at that.

"Hana-ichi, please tell Inuyasha-san that I will see him shortly," he'd said, still looking at me.

That had made my stomach flip and dance among the organs.

The girl lifted her head just enough to stare at Hiroshi-san as if to say: "but…".

He nodded then, before any silent protest on her part could dissipate his decision, and she bowed once more, low, and then scurried off, her _geta_ click-clicking as she ran up the steps of the veranda.

"Hiroshi-san…" the sounds spilled off my tongue, the words that would have followed trapped and left behind in my throat, stuck.

"I will ask a maid to ready a bath for you, Kagome-san. You will want one after so long, yes?"

Lodged and unmovable, the words I wished to say could not be called forth, and all that had managed to wheedle their way past was, "y – yes, of course. How generous of you." _'Hiroshi – generous. How ironic.'_

"Come now, Kagome-san, smile. It is such a beautiful day. Come, come."

'_Yes'_, and I smiled a fake smile just to please him, and let him assist me back to the house and up the small steps and inside, where he called loudly for servants and issued orders in a genial but firm way until all the necessary staff members were doing their necessary tasks, and he handed me over to a plump and rosy-cheeked maid.

Hiroshi-san had patted my hand, so gently and so kindly, as if he were soothing a crying child. But then, I was a crying child, except no one could see my tears but him, and his gentle pat wiped almost all of them away.

"You will feel better now, child, a bath will do you well," he said, smiling, so gracious, always so gracious. A perfect host.

I'd wanted to say 'thank you', and when I say 'thank you' I mean _thank you_, not just _domo arigatou gozaimasu_, but _thank you_, something beyond words that I didn't know how to reach, how to wrap my fingers around and open them up to show him, to place it in his hand so he could hold onto it and never lose it, so he would always know, always remember.

But all I'd said was, "Yes, thank you. Thank you." And then he'd turned away and walked from the room, screen door sliding behind him, and the maid was then leading me away, holding me steady upon my feet.

Somehow, though, I think that Hiroshi-san did understand. He just never showed me at the time. He rarely ever did something like that.

A bath _had_ been such a wonderful idea, the steaming water hot and easing me into its wet and humid embrace. My jelly legs dissolved in the water, and I sunk onto the seat as if my ass was a rock.

You would think that it's funny I remember something as trivial as a bath, but whenever I have nothing else to do all that there is left is to remember, and after a while you get really good at it and remember all the stupid things you thought you forgot.

Besides, it's not so much the bath I remember as the door being ripped open and being confronted by none other than a gasping servant, struggling to talk through his loud breathing. All the servants attending me scrambled around hastily as suddenly an air of frigidness crept through the dank air of the bathhouse.

All the women had surrounded him, and I'd wondered if they planned to suffocate him so that they could fix his awful breathing permanently. What a morbid thought that was.

It was only when I'd noticed the blood trickling down his leg and staining his _kimono_ that my heart had really begun to speed up, nearly choking _me_ and causing my breath to falter.

The image of Hiroshi-san closing the screen door behind him flashed through my mind, as if I rode on a merry-go-round that never stopped and the image just kept on flashing and flashing as I spun continuously, around and around and never stopping.

"_What happened!_"

I hadn't realized that my legs had actually solidified and straightened or that I'd shouted until the words had already flung themselves between the servants and the newly arrived one, forcing them apart to stare at me, almost agape.

Then I'd realized that I was naked, and the bleeding man was transfixed and still in shock from whatever had happened that had injured his leg, but he was staring at my boobs.

"_Ack!_" I'd shrieked, practically plunging myself back into the hot water, my weak legs slipping and sending me underwater in a storm of bubbles.

Now, I've only fallen into baths a couple of times, but dear gods, when I say we Japanese like our baths hot, I mean we like them _hot_, hot as in "scalding", as a tourist once said to me at WacDonald's. And, though I'm sure this is common knowledge, scalding-hot water on your face is _not_ pleasant.

It was barely two seconds before I'd been pulled out of the bath and wrapped in a _kimono_ and sat down on the floor, still coughing and my face still burning.

Weak though I was, I had barely waited to catch my breath before I was lurching to my feet and gripping the servant by his collar and demanding information lest he wanted…well, I can't really remember the length of that list of threats I'd used, but all I have to say about it now is that I was being irrational and was highly stressed at the time.

"What happened? _What!_ Why are you bleeding – was it him? Oh gods, no, no – don't, don't tell me I don't want to know who just…"

I had to take a breath to steady myself. The poor man was petrified. Actually, no, he'd hardly been a man, more of a boy coming into manhood. Younger than me, at the time.

"What happened?" I tried again, this time using a soothing tone, or what I was attempting to pass off as soothing.

"I – well I…"

"Spit it _out!_" I lost my control.

He trembled. "Please – it was my own fault, forgive me Kagome-sama! I angered him!"

"…What?" Why was he begging me, I'd wondered.

A tremor in the corner of his lips.

"I – I insulted him, I – I said…I said…"

I could almost feel the bile rising in my throat, tasting of fear. "Who? Who is he? _Tell me_."

One of his eyes opened to peer at me, the eyelid next to vibrating as was the rest of him. "It…Inuyasha-sama, lady. It was Inuyasha-sama." Suddenly he seemed almost calm.

"What?" Except I hadn't really said it like a question – more like a confused statement, bordering on query.

His head came in contact with the floor to show his shame. "I insulted him," he whispered.

"When – when did this happen?" I demanded.

"Not long ago, Kagome-sama." He was speaking clearly now. "It was as he was leaving Hiroshi-sama's house."

"Leaving…?" And then my breath had eased like a sweet release from my chest, and my eyes closed almost in prayer. If he'd been _leaving_ Hiroshi-san's than surely he had not harmed him.

My eyes flew open.

But – but then, if the boy had come running _here_ and had rushed in so desperately then –

My thoughts had not been able to complete themselves, however, because at that moment a tall shadow had fallen across the tiles, looming in the doorway. And I did not need to look up to confirm because someone else had already spoken his name.


	14. Acrimonious

**Disclaimer: **I tire of these statements. Inuyasha isn't mine. There.

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the delay! Procrastination, no matter what I seem to tell it, does simply not seem to get the idea.

Many thanks go to Wendy again, who takes the time and care out of her day to go through these chapters for me.

* * *

**  
Inevitable**

**Chapter 14**

**Acrimonious  
**

**

* * *

**

_Memories are odd things, and I have found that they are often triggered by things of an even stranger nature. The smell of soap brings me back to that day._

It had been a servant, of course. "Inuyasha-sama," they'd spoken, their voice laced with awe, respect and fear. I only shared the latter.

He must have done something, for the next thing I heard was the hurried movements of the servants bowing and rushing out of the bath house, and from the corner of my eye I saw their feet dash through the open doorway. The last one tripped and scrambled outside on their knees. Then I saw his feet step inside, and my insides twisted.

They did not step towards me for a moment, remaining still and motionless, but the hairs rising on my arms told me that he was staring. I looked away, and it was at that moment that I heard him walk closer.

My entire body tensed with the approach of his presence. _'Oh gods,' _I had been thinking, _'oh gods don't let him touch me.'_

He did, though. My aversion to it was quite apparent but he did it anyway; I suppose I should have been expecting it, for words had never been his forte.

"Oi."

You see?

Although, of all the things he could have said, I've always been somewhat perplexed by his word choice. He always, _always_ managed to surprise me, in some way or another.

But that had almost stung.

"Oi," he repeated, and shook my shoulder gently. Very gently.

"_Oi_."

After hearing it for the third time, I laughed, despite how I wished not to.

"Oi – Kagome! What's so funny?" he demanded, and the familiarity of his voice and tone…of _him_ nearly turned my laughter into tears.

I stopped. "…Is that all you can say?"

"What…" he trailed off. The oddness and simplicity of our conversation just about made me sick.

Feeling suddenly weary and no longer frightened, only very…tired, and old, I slowly stood on weak legs. Sighing loudly, I turned around and looked at him for the first time in days.

His expression was one of slight surprise, whether at my appearance or the fact that I was actually facing him…I don't know, but that's how I remember it.

He looked exactly the same time, and yet, at the same time, so different.

He was clean, not dirty or travel-worn as I'd been expecting after hearing of his prolonged absence, and he wore his hair and clothes the way he always had, and even his gruff expression was recognizable. Everything about him was as I remembered, but there was an undeniable difference that I could not place. But he was so familiar that I'd _wanted_ to believe he was the same, the same boy I'd met years ago.

But it was not a boy that stood before me, it was a man.

And perhaps that was the startling difference I couldn't place. Perhaps it was only then that I was seeing it, truly. I remember noticing that his face looked gaunter then before, and he was a little taller too – or were those observations simply ones I had failed to make long ago?

He was so much…_starker_, everything about him. From his eyes to his posture to the set of his jaw, he looked so much _older_ and different and yet the same, and the realization of it all made my chest constrict in pain.

And then he had frowned, crossed his arms over his chest and said, "What the hell are you staring at?"

I burst into tears.

That, he had obviously not been expecting, but his reaction was instantaneous, and he reached out to grab me, but I quickly backed away and out of his reach.

"Please…don't, just try not to touch me, okay?" I asked, wiping furiously at my tears.

"Kagome…"

"Well what did you _expect?_" I snapped. "That you'd come back and everything would be _fine?_"

"'Course I didn't! I may not be the smartest man in the world, but I'm not fucking_ stupid_,Kagome!" he yelled, his features twisting with frustration and anger.

"Stop _saying_ that!" I screamed, covering my face with my hands.

"Saying _what?_"

"My _name!_" I yelled, the salty taste of tears and snot on my tongue. I sniffed and wiped my nose on my sleeve hastily.

It seemed I had shocked him into a state of silence, but his mouth only dropped open for a second before he immediately shut it, his face adopting an unusual expression of calm. That frightened me more than his anger ever had.

After a time, he'd said, "…_What?_"

Meeting his gaze with my watery one, I breathed out slowly. "…Just, _stop_ saying it," I'd whispered, and when he opened his mouth, I cut him off before he managed to yell at me again. "You can't just…" I rubbed my temples, "_refer_ to me so…casually, so…_normally_, because you know damn well that everything's not."

"Kagome, make some fucking se –"

"See?" I interrupted. "There you go again! Talking to me as if everything is just fine and _perfect _even though_ nothing_ is! Don't you understand? Everything has _changed_. We _can't_ go back."

When I'd finished I lowered my head and said softly, "Don't you see?"

About him there seemed to be a heaviness pressing down on him, as if it were trying to cripple him. He did not reply immediately, not until I backed so far away that I felt the wall against my back. For some reason unknown to me, I never panicked.

"Kagome – and _don't_ you start on that again! I've always called you 'Kagome' and I'm not going to stop now just because of..." He searched for the right words and failed so continued on and left it hanging.

"Kagome – stop looking at me like that – you know I feel fucking sorry for…everything..."

"Of course I do!" I burst out before he could finish. "But that doesn't change anything! It's _over_," I said with a weary desperation, "_over_ – don't you understand the meaning of the word? Haven't we had this conversation _before?_"

He still did not have a very outward appearance of anger.

"I already said I'm not fucking stupid, _Kagome_. And the last time we had this 'conversation' you were going fucking _insane!_"

"Oh, and of course _you _weren't!"

"I got a hold of myself, damn it!"

"Only after you'd realized you almost _raped me!_"

I barely had time to even register the horrified look on his face before his hands were gripping my shoulders and pressing me against the wall.

"Trying to finish what you started?" I said sardonically.

He flinched visibly but did not remove his hands.

"What do you _want_, Kagome?"

The fatigue in his voice startled me, and I blinked, taking a moment to study his face, and for a very brief instant, I thought I saw the boy for whom I'd been searching for so long.

I pushed his arms away, and he didn't resist.

"I want to know _why_."

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down, Kagome."

Sliding down the wall and hitting the floor with a quiet _thump_, I tried not to cry but did anyway, and looked up at him. "Do you love me…Inuyasha?"

I cannot find the words to describe the look I had then seen upon his face. Surprise, sadness, shock, panic…there was such a myriad of emotion that I hadn't been able to decipher it, so many flitting across his features and always _changing_, as if he had been unable to decide on which he was feeling.

He had not looked away when he answered me.

"No."

And for perhaps the hundredth time, I had felt my heart shatter into pieces. Only that time I hadn't been able to remember how to put them back together again.


	15. Abnegation

**Disclaimer:** I'm beginning to think that the only reason I do these, is for my own amusement. But I digress. I do not own Inuyasha.

**Author's Note: **It seems I won't reach my goal and finish this story in less than a year, which, considering the short length of this, is really quite pathetic. Sorry everyone, but maybe, just _maybe_ I'll be able to muster my motivation and update less sporadically, who knows.

And, of course, I can't forget the wonderful Wendy, and all the beta snaps I still owe her for all of her great help with this 'fic.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 15**

**Abnegation**

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_There is a broken puzzle that has scattered its pieces across my mind, little bits and pieces of yesterday and yesteryear; the coffee I spilled at work, the phone call from Souta telling me that he's moving again, and the conversation I had so long ago with a boy I thought I knew._

I remember that at first there was only the shock, and then of course the hurt, the painful prodding at the back of my eyes that I fought so hard to beat. I blinked and saw the corners of the room blur, leaving him right in the centre of my vision, clear and tall and _right there_, standing in front of me, and I lowered my head because I wanted so badly to hide.

But when breathing slowly became not so hard, and the stinging in my eyes not so strong, I let go of the air in my lungs, feeling the hollowness fill my stomach, until it was suddenly chased out by a hot wave of anger and denial.

My hands came away from my head, moving slowly to rest on the floor where I curled them into fists. A thread of coherency was pulled through my thoughts,_ 'That…that…asshole.'_

"You asshole," I'd said before I even realized it. I couldn't remember being so vulgar before, but I had suddenly felt so hot, and the steam of the baths seemed strangely thicker and heavier, and the pounding in my temples was hammering away at the corresponding beat that went _thud thud_ in my heart.

If he had expected it, I can't remember.

"You – you're – you…liar – you're lying, you're lying! Why are you lying? Why – gods, I don't believe you! I don't believe you, I don't, I don't…." I withered away into sobs. "You're lying, you were lying, you were always _lying_ – did you always lie? Always?" And I looked up at him, desperate to know – desperate for anything.

Everything I'd been building, building from him, _for_ him, had all toppled down on me. I was trapped beneath it all and I was suffocating, looking, struggling for a way out. _Anything_. But already I felt the pain bear down on me, and there were too many bruises and breaks and wounds to fix, too many to crawl out unscathed, unhurt. Perhaps it had always been meant to end that way.

There is a piece missing from this one, and it's been much too long for me to go looking and find it. Some must begin where others leave off, and what was missing between where my memories are patched together is gone forever.

Not much is lost; I think that perhaps I was too angry and confused to remember what things – most likely obscenities – that would have left my mouth, what insults and accusations I could have thrown at him. But I do remember that I yelled, though not what I said. Whatever it could have been, I know it must have been horrible, for where my memory picks up I am tossed – no, shoved – into the sweltry water of the bath, robe and all.

I came up sputtering, feeling drugged and weighted down, the cloth of my robe absorbing the water like a sponge, weighing on my small frame. My eyes were burning and I believed I had swallowed some water, for my throat hurt and felt scalded. I was gasping for breath and the steam only made it worse, and all I remember feeling at that very moment was how self-conscious I was of crying.

For a moment or two, I floundered in the water, gasping and choking and crying my eyes out like the foolish girl that I was.

He pulled me out – of course he pulled me out. And my arms were to hot and heavy and like lead to resist him when he removed my waterlogged robe.

Surging up again like a tidal wave, the anger was again hot and spewing forth from my mouth as I screamed – or yelled, or something, and then I was snatching at the new robe he was holding in his hands (he must have fetched one, I can't recall) and wrapping it about myself, so uncomfortable beneath his gaze that betrayed nothing to me, no matter how hard I looked.

"Get away – just _get away!_" I screamed, fumbling to get my arms in the sleeves, crying and grappling with the heavy material, hating him for everything and anything – but most of all because I still loved him.

He was doing nothing again. Just standing there, watching me, unreadable. It made me hate him more.

"Get out – _get out_…please…" And I was blubbering again, crying and useless, so _useless_. I fell to the floor, landing with a loud _thump_. "Am I this worthless to you?" I held up my hands, having already realized long before – perhaps farther back than I thought – that fighting was futile. I was trying to escape the wreckage, but I was lost in the shipwrecked mess, treading water.

For a time, neither of us moved, me on my place on the floor, crying so hard that soon there weren't even tears. He just stood across from me, silent and brooding. I think that his lack of response made me cry harder. He _always_ got upset when I cried, always – _always_. It was one of the few strings I had held onto to make me believe he cared. But his scissors had cut even that string.

"G – gods y – you a – are – are su – succch a – a…a j – jerk…" I choked out, covering my face in my hands and hating him and hating myself and hating _everything_.

But then he was there, at my side, touching my head, touching my back, touching_ me_, and I wanted it and despised it and it just…made everything inside hurt so badly.

Bile rose in my throat. "Don't touch me." I wouldn't, couldn't, let him touch me. I wiped at my eyes desperately, holding back my sobs.

"Go away," I said.

His hand left my shoulder, but he did not leave my side.

"Go away…" I reiterated, whispering.

"No."

I choked, and broke out in tears again, the salty wetness pouring down my face, and I held my robe together, my hands shaking as I pulled it about myself tighter. I took the moment to pull myself back into a semblance of order, risking a look up at him.

He was staring, his eyes concerned and…and hurt? I covered my mouth quickly, closing my eyes.

"Just…just tell me why, tell me – just…" I bowed my head, resting it on my knees; the violence of my crying subsided for the most part, allowing me space enough to breathe.

For a while I had thought that he would not answer, and when I finally heard him move I stiffened, tightening my arms about my knees. But he only stood, moving away from me. I did not suppress my sigh of relief.

"Kagome, I don't…I'm not…"

"Just tell me!" I burst out, throwing my arms up, my head snapping up to face him, my open hands hanging in the air. I could not understand the hesitation I now saw in his features. "Just tell me why…"

His brows furrowed, arms crossing over his chest, feet apart and firmly rooted on the floor. I remembered this pose, his posture. The same knot I'd felt earlier rose in my throat; so many things about him I remembered, so many things that I did not.

But then his eyes closed. That part was new.

"It doesn't exist, Kagome."

"…What?" I opened my mouth, trying to say more, but nothing came. I shuffled back on the floor, holding tightly to my robe. I had been frowning, confused.

His eyes then opened, looking straight at me.

"Love does not exist, Kagome, it never did." His voice held a strange quality of finality.

"Yes it does," I almost spat, desperate to hang onto it. I confused even myself, grappling at something I was frantic to escape, and yet still holding it too closely to ever let go. "Yes it does," I repeated, but to myself.

Shaking his head, he took a step forward. I did not move. His face was sad. "No, Kagome, no, it doesn't."

Angry, I began to yell, "Yes it do –"

"_No it doesn't!_"

I stopped, stilling. He was suddenly angry. I said nothing.

Clenching his fists, he took two more steps towards me. "Tell me – tell me of one person – _one_ _person_, that has ever confessed to – to _love_. Tell me."

"I –" But there was nothing I could say.

"You see, Kagome? Don't you see?"

"But – but Miroku-sama –"

"Has never said it – _never!_"

"Some things don't need words!" I cried, leaning forward, almost pleading.

He shook his head, frustrated. "Whatever exists in your world, Kagome," he said to me, still shaking his head, "does not exist here."

I was crying again. I wondered how I had come to this.

"Love is just a word. It means nothing to me." He turned away.

My head was touching the boards of the floor. I was crying, but my body didn't shake and I didn't fight to breathe as I had before. I felt desolate. I had given up.

"But what about _her?_" I asked him softly, and looking up I saw him stop in the doorway, his back to me.

There was a stretch of silence, and then he had said, "I don't even know what love is, Kagome."

I do not know how I rose to my feet, but suddenly I was staggering across to him, and he turned around abruptly, a fleeting look of alarm passing over his face. I walked up to him, stopping right in front of him, staring up at him, he staring back.

"Screw you," I said, and walked out the door.

I had not taken more than a few steps when he yelled after me, "Wha – where the hell are you going?"

And I had just continued walking.


	16. Visitation

**Disclaimer:** I'm too tired to think up something interesting here. I do not own Inuyasha, etc. etc.

**Author's Note: **To all those people with squeamish stomachs and/or minds, **this chapter contains slightly gory scenes**.

And also, I can't forget to thank my wonderful beta, Wendy, and her keen eyes.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 16**

**Visitation**

* * *

_If I look back now, I cannot quite picture his face the way it was before the sickness ate it away – no matter how I try. I see it only fleetingly in the corner of my eyes, a flash of something I once knew, and have not quite forgotten._

Though he was technically much older, he would appear to be only about five or six years of age.

I had been in the _Sengoku Jidai_ four days already, and only then on that fourth day had I finally been able to do what I had intended from the first.

When I met Kaede-obasan at the doorway she looked startled, her old and dim eye widening and taking in my…state. I hadn't really taken note of it before, but under her shocked gaze I remember that I was wearing nothing but a robe. The wind seemed to take that opportune moment to send a draft up my legs.

I shivered. "Good morning, Kaede-obasan."

"Kagome," she said simply, the brief surprise I'd caused her to suffer gone, her old feathers back in their unruffled place. Her voice sounded like a wind that whistled through forgotten places.

"I…is he…?" I did not have to produce a grammatically correct sentence for the old woman to know why I was there.

She appeared to be considering whether to answer me or not, which confused and frustrated me greatly. I'd had enough of people's strange looks, and I'd wanted to see Shippou-chan and saw no reason to be kept standing outside, freezing my toes off with nothing but what might have been considered sixteenth century lingerie on.

Kaede-obasan made a jerky nod in the direction of the doorway, before she began ambling past me, limping and leaning heavily on her staff.

"Kaede-obasan…?" I whispered, just as she walked past me. She went on a few more steps before stopping and turning to face me. I sighed, heavily, and drew the robe about myself even tighter. For a moment, I almost thought she would say something, but she only stared at me for a long time, long enough for me to curl my toes in the damp grass – had it rained? – and wish for her to hurry up her response.

It was not much of a reply. In fact, I wouldn't even call it that. She just…looked at me, watched me with what looked like regret. And then she turned around and walked away, moving slowly and appearing frail despite her bulk. The wind was not strong, but I found myself almost fearing she would be blown away.

I stood by the hut watching her, until my feet screamed at me in their metaphorical way and I looked away quickly, dashing into the hut.

Kaede-obasan's was not much in the way of housing, but over the years we'd managed to make an addition of one room, intended mainly for the purpose of putting her patients somewhere dry and clean.

There was only one patient in that room now.

Fearfully, I opened the _shoji_, the image of Kaede-obasan's regretful and closed face hovering in the back of my mind, and I temporarily wondered if her strange expression had been because of – I cut off that thought as quickly as I had thought it up. I pulled open the screen door, and stepped to the centre of the doorway.

He was lying at the far side of the room, a window to my left and right filling the room with a dim light. The sky was overcast. It must have rained.

I stood there, my breath hitching, waiting, and when I saw his head weakly turn towards me, I nearly gasped with relief.

Smiling, I stepped into the room and shut the door behind me. I walked over to him slowly, my feet leaving faint footprints behind. When I reached him, I looked down at him and tried to give him my brightest smile, succeeding in getting his own little smile in return. I lowered myself to a crouch, and eased my legs from under me. I had only begun to realize how very cold my feet were. I scrunched my toes up and brought my feet beneath me in a cross-legged position, the cold, damp soles of my feet sending goose bumps along the soft flesh of my thighs.

"Kago…me…" he breathed, a barely audible exhalation. You could hear death walk closer with his every breath. He was already in the room, and frightened, I glanced out of the corner of my eye, feeling his shadow looming somewhere near.

The sensation of a cold hand touching my own startled me to the point that I actually yelped, but whipping my head back to him, I realized that it had been his own.

"Oh…I'm sorry, Shippou-chan," I apologized. I tried to laugh. "You gave me a little fright."

He smiled, slightly, his pale lips pulling back to show his little canines. His tongue looked strange and limp in his mouth, his chest rising and falling with the small, raspy gasps he took. I smiled again, knowing that I looked like I was going to cry, and brought my hand to rest upon his cheek, his skin cold and slightly damp to the touch, his cheekbone prominent against my palm.

The only thing about him that seemed to hold any colour was his hair, still a bright and flaming orange, in contrast to his near-white skin, despite his ever increasing lack of it. Hesitantly, I pulled back the blanket, folding it over softly so that I could examine his middle.

Save for the loincloth he wore, he was naked. The only other thing next to clothing was the white bandage that covered most of his torso, his ribs so visible that if you merely glanced at him, you would at first think they were not even covered in flesh.

That he was still alive was astounding; any human or normal creature would have died in less than an hour after being impaled in such a way. When it had happened I had thought that he _would_ die. I'd run up to his bloody body, screaming and sobbing and trying to stop the blood with my shirt, trying to hold him down at the same time as he writhed and wailed, making the most horrible noises that had me waking in my sleep for the next month.

I'd been too distracted by Shippou-chan to pay attention to anything else; I was too focused on trying to stop the blood – oh god, the blood – and keep him conscious that I didn't even notice the screams of the others, of the countless others that had died there on the field below. Oh yes, it hadn't been just us that had gained victory in the end – we weren't the victorious four, let me tell you.

The people that had fought with us were no warriors; no great _samurai_ like Hiroshi-san fought to bring about Naraku's demise. An army of peasant warriors, sent by some _daimyo_ that had been given the orders by some higher up man who, no doubt, had no time to deal with such a disturbance. I'm sure none of the great _daimyo_ of the time ever gave Naraku more than a second glance. He was just a troublemaker that had only been made into a horror by superstitious peasants. So they dispatched a small and inexperienced army – if you could even call it that – of men who were scared shitless but had too much honour to disgrace their nameless families by deserting.

I, by the orders of none other than you know who, had been stationed far enough away from the battle so that I would be in no immediate danger, but close enough so that I would not be left feeling completely useless.

To be honest, I was secretly glad, despite my vocal protests, to be left where I was, with the few peasant archers on the hill.

Never in my life had I been as scared as I had been that day. That it would begin and end somehow was inevitable, but the morning of the preordained battle I'd been ready to piss myself. When it began for real, I found myself feeling strangely calm – detached. It was simply an act of concentration and repetition: nock, pull back, release.

But then, of course, Shippou-chan had gotten in the way. Sometimes, I still find myself wondering if I am secretly glad that he sacrificed himself or not. I still cannot bear to bring myself to a conclusion.

But there I'd been, suddenly oblivious to all the fighting that went on below, desperately trying to keep my friend alive, gripping him and holding him against my chest with only my bra and pants on. I'd had my shirt wrapped around his middle, pressing down on the wound with both hands, beyond crying at that point, and trying to ignore the feel of his blood all over me.

He himself had barely been conscious, blubbering nonsensical things and coughing blood all over himself and me. When he eventually passed out I mistook his loss of consciousness for death, and began screaming and crying so loudly that I have to look back and be shocked that I didn't draw enough attention to myself to have been killed.

I'd scrambled out from under him, careless and abruptly crazed. I'd ripped my shirt free, not noticing the flesh that had come away with it, and tried to mop up the area around the wound with the already soaked garment. The bleeding, by that time, had slowed, which heightened my hysteria even more. It had taken me minutes to bring myself to a level of, not exactly calm, but at least of relative sense. Examining the wound, I was eased slightly to realize that it was not as large as its initial impression had been. Its circumference was slightly smaller than the size of my fist, but from it came one of the most acrid smells that caused me to vomit. I wondered later why I had not taken notice of it before.

On closer examination I saw that the surrounding flesh was burnt, red and raw. I touched it, and snatched my hand away in horror, immediately wiping it on the ground and crying again, the burnt piece of flesh smearing on the grass. It reminded me of those gory Vietnam War films. But by then I had at least managed to calm down and realize that Shippou-chan was indeed still alive, if only barely. There had been nothing for me to do, and even with the battle still raging on below us, I dared not move him for fear of making his condition worse.

I was able to garner the help of one of the archers, and he gave me his shirt which I used to – _very tentatively_ – mop up the area around the wound.

It was around this time that it happened.

The man – whose name I do not know, or _ever _knew for that matter – was about to lift Shippou-chan up in order for me to try and bandage the wound (I'd sent him off to get my little first-aid kit) when I abruptly yelled at him to stop.

He did, obviously, and then his mouth fell open as he saw the reason for my outburst.

I have never ceased to be amazed by the resilience my dear friend showed that day. I cannot deny that his _youkai_ blood was the reason, but I still think back and feel that there was something on his part, his will to live, that extended his life as long as it was.

It took twenty minutes at least, but both that middle-aged peasant and I watched Shippou's wound heal itself, the skin miraculously growing back and sealing the wound closed. However, it did nothing for the burns, and when he awoke days later, Shippou-chan had coughed up more blood. It would be a week more before he would even stand again.

For a time, we had almost believed he'd make it. He'd shown signs of recovery; he could stand on his feet – if only for a few seconds before help was needed – and he'd been able to eat, even if he could only digest liquids – though he would always throw up much of it later. I had deluded myself into thinking he would get better.

He had been starving, slowly, due to the fact that he could _still_ digest a very little, but less than a month after the battle he began to cough up blood again, and he could no longer keep himself on his feet – even with something to hold onto. He became bedridden and began to lose hair. We all knew that Naraku's poison was eating him away from the inside, very slowly from the way he continued to hold on, and all of us were powerless to stop it.

As I sat by him, I watched him simply lie there – that a feat in itself. His eyes were closed and his breathing relatively steady. I tried to focus on re-bandaging the wound as I had started to earlier. When I had finished, I'd taken the cloth and bowl of water that was always set at the head of the futon, and dipped the cloth in the water, gently wiping it along his parched lips.

I did that for a long time, and sometimes his eyes would flicker open and look at me, and I'd smile.

It was during one of these short moments that the _shoji_ behind me was flung open.

I can only remember thinking how tired I was of all the interruptions I'd had to suffer that day.


	17. Impugnation

**Disclaimer:** I do not Inuyasha. Whatever.

**Author's Note: **We are nearing the end, folks! Seriously. I'm going to make an estimate of two more chapters.

Again, thanks to my awesome beta, Wendy, and her super-speedy editing skills.

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Chapter 17**

**Impugnation**

* * *

_Even today, I find I always have to ask myself, was it worth it? Was all the violence and the tragedy worth what we achieved in the end, if anything? Was all the death and the destruction necessary? Or was it all just an inevitable fate that we'd been heading towards all along…?_

"Kagome."

Slowly, I turned, bringing both my hands into my lap. I could feel the dampness of the cloth on my bare legs where the _kimono_ had fallen open.

"Yes, Kaede-obasan?"

She stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, the lines on her face seeming strangely prominent. She waited there a moment to catch her breath, before stepping into the room, limping towards us.

I glanced at Shippou-chan. His eyes were watching Kaede-obasan, appearing almost half-asleep. His mouth hung open, his breathing noisy, as if it were scraping past his throat to get out. Gently, I wiped away the line of drool that had begun to trickle down his chin.

"Kagome," I heard Kaede-obasan say again, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder.

Keeping my face turned away from her, I dabbed the cloth along Shippou-chan's lips briefly before I set it aside. Tentatively, I brushed a few hairs from his forehead.

"Come, Kagome," she said, her grip tightening on my shoulder. I heard footsteps outside the room and glanced out of the corner of my eye to see a young girl in priestess robes standing there. Kaede-obasan's apprentice. I cannot remember her name.

"Come, come," she urged, and brought me to my feet.

I stared down at Shippou-chan, reluctant to leave. A frightening sensation twisted in my gut. I had to open my mouth to draw in a shaky breath.

"Come, come now, Kagome," Kaede-obasan whispered, pulling me away. She nodded towards the demure girl who stood in the doorway. "She will look after Shippou-chan."

The girl smiled at me, and bowed. I said nothing.

Kaede-obasan seemed to take that as an okay sign, and led me from the room. I looked back once to see Shippou-chan's still and pallid form lying on the futon, before the young girl slid the _shoji_ screens shut.

I started, suddenly realizing that I had stopped. I only had a moment to stand there before Kaede-obasan was pulling me along again.

"Kagome," she said, leaning towards my ear as we left her hut, "I must tell you something."

Confused, I turned my head slightly so I could watch her face.

"Inuyasha is in a great deal of trouble."

A jolt of surprise snaked up my spine, and I would have stopped, but the old priestess continued walking, her hand placed firmly on the small of my back. Darting my eyes over to watch her, a very discomforting feeling settled over me as I saw the obvious fear in her eye.

"Kaede-obasan, what –"

"Inuyasha attacked Hiroshi-san."

"_What!_" My breath hitched in its place and I froze, despite Kaede-obasan's attempts to keep me moving.

"Kagome –"

"How? _How!_ Kaede-obasan – tell me what happened!" I spun out of her grip and faced her directly, grabbing her shoulders. "Why – when? When did this…?"

"Earlier. After you had left his house." Her eye searched mine. "You did not know this?"

"I – I thought…" I closed my eyes and lowered my head, breathing in and out deeply. I felt her hands tenderly cup my face and lift it. I could feel the tears sliding down my cheeks. "Oh gods…" I sobbed, my breath jerking about in my chest.

Her thumbs smoothed the tears away. I could see the restraint in her face, the corner of her eye glistening.

"I can't believe I didn't – I was such an _idiot_," I spat, straightening and scrubbing furiously at my face, crying. Kaede-obasan squeezed my shoulder encouragingly. "Do – do you think there's…_anything _we can do?" I had to wonder to myself why I wanted to _help_ him.

She looked at me seriously. "It is a matter of honour."

"_What?_" I shook my head, and pushed away from her. "No. No – it can't be as simple as that, we have to _do_ something –"

"Kagome, you do not understand –"

"No! I don't – obviously!" I spluttered, angry. "How _would_ I know anything here?" I threw my hands up in frustration. "Sometimes I just…I just _can't_ stand all of…_this_." I fisted my hands in my hair.

"Kagome…" She made to move towards me.

"No!" I held out my hand. "No, I need – I have to _do_ something, or else I won't ever forgive myself, I swear!"

"Kagome, you need to calm down…" Kaede-obasan said as she walked over to me.

I shook my head and backed away from her. "Kaede-obasan, this is _important_. What if – what if he does something _worse?_ They can't possibly – no, I have to go – I have to do something!" I shouted, and tore off, regardless of my scantily clad state.

"Kagome!" she yelled after me. "Kagome!" But I was already running towards Hiroshi-san's house. A terrible lump had suddenly formed in my throat. I began to notice the lack of people as I passed through. The frightening sensation from earlier intensified, and I suddenly had to pee.

My feet were freezing, and my legs were covered with goose bumps when I finally arrived at the scene. I stopped dead in my tracks, and my pounding heart drowned out the frightened thoughts scrambling through my mind.

The clearing in front of the entrance to Hiroshi-san's house was encircled by a small crowd of villagers, their eyes trained on the two in their centre. Death wasn't uncommon in the _Sengoku Jidai_, but in that village there was a great deal less violence than I had witnessed in other villages and towns. A fight between two such trained killers had never been seen by any of them before, and was sure to draw their attention, especially when one of the fighters was not completely human.

"Oh gods…" I whispered, wrapping my _kimono_ more tightly about myself. Damn, but I was _freezing_.

"You disgusting half-breed!"

I jumped at the sudden harsh words. I clutched my robe with clammy hands.

"You have insulted the honour of this village _and_ my family, you filthy _hanyou_. You have the gall to attack _my_ father – a man of _samurai_ blood, and _you_ – you who are nothing but the bastard son of a _whore_."

I had watched in horror as Inuyasha had shot back curses at Ryota, his hand gripping the hilt of Tessaiga in a white-knuckled grip.


	18. Cessation

**Disclaimer: **Still can't claim ownership.

**Author's Note: **Well, this is it folks! The last chapter, but don't worry, there's an epilogue. I'm both amazed and appalled that it took me this long to finish this bloody thing. But I am, if not wholly satisfied, relieved, and happy, that I've managed to finish it.

I'd like to thank everybody who has read _Inevitable_, whether they enjoyed it or not, and to _especially _thank all those who have followed it for the past fourteen months, right from the beginning.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my awesome beta, Wendy, who helped me so much with this 'fic. If not for her, this little piece of fanfiction would not be what it is now.

* * *

**Inevitable **

**Chapter 18**

**Cessation**

* * *

_We all make mistakes, but sometimes I wonder if I made too many._

It was a stupid thing to do, interfering. But, I was young, he was in trouble, and it looked as if there would be blood and death any way you looked at it. I didn't think that I would make things worse.

Inuyasha is not a very good swordsman.

He's strong, fast and agile, but he has no idea how to apply any of that to swordsmanship. Tessaiga is powerful because it is magical, and is meant for mass slaughter. But when it comes to real sword fighting, it is about as useless as its wielder.

Inuyasha was not losing but he wasn't winning either. I was standing with the crowd, freezing and terrified, while the onlookers watched in a curious fascination. Duels didn't usually attract such attention, but Inuyasha, a _hanyou_, had never taken part in any. He had always fascinated and frightened the villagers.

There was a scream in my throat, but it was refusing to come out. Ryota was obviously a well-trained swordsman, but even though he was fighting as inept a swordsman as Inuyasha, he could not match his opponents speed.

It was infuriating to watch them. I knew very well that Inuyasha could kill Ryota just about any time he liked, but why he continued to play this game with him both confused and scared me. I did not want him to kill Ryota, I'd seen enough of that sort of thing up to that point, but there, death was the solution.

Ryota's anger was not loud and obvious like Inuyasha's; the insults he'd uttered so vehemently earlier had been most unexpected and alarming. I had felt frozen in my place, knowing with a dreadful certainty that Kaede-obasan's words had been true. Ryota was more temperamental than most _samurai_ I had happened across in the _Sengoku Jidai_, but his blatant cursing was something I had never expected to see. _Samurai_ strived for peace and tranquility, and such outbursts would be considered shameful.

The tightening knot of fear in my gut rose up into my throat and made me gasp for air.

Even if Inuyasha killed Ryota, which I was sure he would, it would not simply end there. Attacking a _samurai_ – a lord for that matter, if only a small one – would send him straight to prison, and then it would be the executioner. I was aware that Inuyasha could easily escape such a fate, but a life of exile he'd already lived, and something inside me, despite all that had happened, despite everything that had been said and done, did not wish for that to befall him.

"Stop!" The word was out of my mouth before I had even remembered thinking it. Such a stupid, stupid thing to say.

I ran from the crowd, my toes completely numb. If only I could make them stop, talk to Hiroshi-san – for Inuyasha had not killed him, I _knew_ it. Hiroshi-san was my friend, and I'd been so sure – so _hoping_ that I could make him, them, listen. Such false hopes, those were.

"Please, stop…" I begged, the two warriors momentarily paused out of astonishment. Ryota slowly turned his head, eying me with such obvious distaste that I had to stop myself from taking a step backward.

Instead, I walked forward, brave, foolish girl that I was. I was making a martyr out of myself and I didn't even realize it.

I had not gone far, nor had I needed to, but his swiftness surprised even Inuyasha.

The blade slid between my ribs with a sickening sound, and when Ryota pulled the sword from my body, I screamed, a searing pain ripping into my chest like nothing I had ever felt before. I crumpled instantly, clutching the wound and shuddering, feeling my blood run between my fingers. I was face down in my own blood, watching in terror as it pooled around me, my hands clutching at the robe, desperately trying to stop it, amazed at how fast it flowed from my body.

I could taste my in blood in my mouth, and coughing I turned my face to the side, trying to seize the very wound and close it, feeling my breath accelerate as I began to keen, dry sobs shaking my prone body. The unavoidable outcome of the situation was so unbelievable, so foreign to me that I frantically tried to deny the fact that I was going to die.

"I don't want to die. I don't want to die…" I was murmuring, only half conscious of the commotion going on around me. The chaos inside of me was so consuming that I did not notice it around me. Only when Ryota's head landed next to mine did I feel the hammer of comprehension hit me fully, and even though I was screaming, I couldn't hear myself.

"Mama, Mama –" I was saying, over and over, the blood seeping from my nose now, trailing red snot down my face. I felt delirious and could feel all reason and thought slipping away. I could barely breathe, and every breath brought more blood into my mouth, and I could feel myself drowning.

"No, no, n – no….Mama, Mama…." was all I could say and think, shivering uncontrollably as I felt a coldness grow in my extremities, the pain inside my body making everything scream and the world tilt. I wanted it to stop so _badly_, but I only had the strength to writhe and shudder, soaking myself in my salty blood.

The feel of strong hands turning me over made me cry out, and I was trying to curl up into a tiny ball, gripping my wet robe and crying, _really_ crying, the warm tears running freely down my face. There was blood in my right eye and I couldn't open it, but through my left I could see the blurry face of Kaede-obasan.

I reached one hand toward her, crying so loudly and fumbling to get a hold of something, _anything_. I was too frightened and in too much pain to think about anything like dignity or shame. Maybe I was brave like people said, but I was only twenty and drowning in my own blood five hundred years too soon, and no matter how courageous and stupid I'd ever been in some silly little battle, I didn't want to die.

I wanted my _mother_.

"Mama, Mama…" I cried feverishly, my fingers trying to get a hold of Kaede-obasan's shirt, but her firm, warm grip enveloped mine, and I could hear her saying, "Shh, shh…"

I felt crazy and sane though it didn't seem to matter anymore, but all I wanted was my mother, with such a frenzied need that even Ryota's head next to mine didn't mean anything to me anymore – I couldn't even remember. All I could think about was the pain and my mother and air, but all that filled my lungs every time I gasped, every time I cried, every time I spoke, was blood.

The last thing I remember seeing, the last image of the _Sengoku Jidai_ that I will never, ever forget, was the face of a man, a young man, with stark white hair, and soft ears, that I would so like to touch.


	19. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Inuyasha. Plain and simple.

**Author's Note: **This is it, everybody! The end. After much contemplation and some input from my beta, I've decided to go with this one. So, again, thank you all for reading, I hope you've enjoyed it at least a little.

(For future reference, there isn't going to be a sequel.)

* * *

**Inevitable**

**Epilogue**

* * *

There is a well of memories inside of me, and if I jump I will tumble and fall, down through the years and back to a time when bills didn't matter, and a bunch of kids could change the world.

I remember most all of it, but there are little snatches, the ones I don't remember, that come back to me, sometimes, in my dreams. But when I wake up, they always fade, and I am left feeling reminiscent and sad.

There are things about the past that I will never know, and stories to which I will never know the ending, whether they were happy or sad. And there is a boy, or perhaps he was a man, that I will never see again save for in that old well.

His is a fate I will always ponder but never know, like so many others that I would have liked to see.

I would have liked to know a great many things, but _karma_ cannot be so kind.

Yet, despite the fact that I have a great wealth of unfinished endings, there are some things, whether intentional or unintentional, that manage to write them for me.

When, at the age of twenty, I awoke cold and naked, but unharmed, at the bottom of the shrine's well, and days later returned home from the hospital to find the sacred stone gone from my desk, a brush inside me picked up a memory and dipped its tip in the ink of knowledge and theories, and wrote an ending.

It is the only ending I have ever written, but I fear that if I were to write endings to them all, that well of memories inside of me would dry up, and I could never fall down again.


End file.
